


Tiny Dancer

by CLADD



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ass Play, Edgeplay, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Mention of suicide and the impact on survivors, Moving On, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Sex, Slow Burn, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2019-11-24 03:10:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 122,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18160712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CLADD/pseuds/CLADD
Summary: After losing his wife to cancer, Negan struggled to figure how to move forward without her. "Can you try to be nicer to people? For me," Lucille had made him promise before she'd passed away. "You're going to need people in your life. Your drinking buddies aren't going to be enough."As much as he wanted to make good on his promise, people just tended to get on his f***ing nerves. Like the piece of work who had moved into the house next door. She'd been a total pill, from the moment he'd met her."It just strikes ‘ol Merle here, she ain’t as bad as you make her out to be," his buddy drawled with a grin. "I think she caught the almighty Coach Negan off guard when she refused to take your shit from you, and then turned around and put you in your place.”





	1. Negan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Noexceptions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noexceptions/gifts).



“I saw the couple who bought Dale’s place,” Negan informed his wife Lucille as he walked into the living room after hanging his black leather jacket on one of the hooks on the wall behind the front door, and dropping his duffel bag underneath it on the floor. She had been talking softly to her sister as he opened and closed the front door, so he knew she was awake. He approached the hospital bed which sat in the middle of their living room, realizing it no longer struck him as an oddity in the space, each day which went by further cementing it as something which belonged in the room, ugly as fuck or not. He wasn’t kidding himself, though. He knew, one day soon, both the bed, and the woman in it would be gone. Each day the bed was still taking up the space was a win, in his mind, so even though the high tech bed was an unsightly addition to what once was a comfortable, cozy space, he was downright thrilled it was still there.

When he and Lucille had found out she had stage four pancreatic cancer five months before, she had told him, in no uncertain terms she wanted to spend her final days in their home, looking out over the water, a pastime which brought her great joy. There was no better spot in the house to enjoy the view, other than on the deck, so Negan had rented a hospital bed and placed it smack dab in the middle of the room, where his wife’s view would be unimpeded.

They had bought the small house on the shore of Swan Creek, off the Potomac River in Northern Virginia, when Lucille's father had passed away a few years before, paying cash for it with her inheritance. Lucille’s younger sister worked in real estate, and had gotten them a good deal on the small property and fixer upper which had been built in the sixties; a rancher with a walkout basement which lead to a nice sized backyard and a small beach. There was boat dock, which they shared with the neighboring house. Their house, and the house next door sat side by side at the end of a winding road, the back of their properties facing the water, the other three sides surrounded by woods.

The surrounding area had exploded with construction a decade before, and huge modern houses and upper middle class communities had been built up on the other side of the dense woods. Luckily the woods themselves had been deemed protected wetlands before developers had the chance to tear down the trees and replace them with condominiums. Negan and Lucille’s home, and the house next door would be forever nestled together, between the shore and woods, thanks to local environmentalists.

When he and his wife had moved in, the house next door was owned by a friendly elderly gentleman named Dale. Lucille had made fast friends with the man, and the couple had frequently invited him over to grill out in good weather, sharing steaks, beer and stories of the good old days. Negan thought the man was hokey at times, a fucking paragon of morality who was almost annoyingly virtuous. Even so, he enjoyed swapping stories with the man, regaling his own stories of his time on the basketball court in college, and enjoying Dale’s stories of how he and his wife Irma had met at Woodstock and had taken off together on a whim, traveling the country in a rickety Winnebago. They had followed the Grateful Dead on tour in their early twenties, until they came back east three years later to settle down and get married. Though they had wanted a family, the couple were unable to have children, the elder man had confided, something the old man and the couple next door were unfortunate enough to have in common, so they had plenty of money to invest in the property on the water. Irma had died from Lou Gehrig’s disease right before Negan and Lucille had moved in, leaving Dale devastated and lonely. The couple looked at him as a surrogate father figure, since Lucille’s dad had passed, and since they tried to avoid Negan’s father as much as possible.

The old man next door had passed away from a heart attack a few months before Lucille was diagnosed with her terminal illness, and the couple had both felt the loss of his wise and comforting presence in their lives.

Dale had informed Negan after an initial minor heart attack the year before, he had put a will together and had lined up the sale of his house in advance, should something happen to him, to a couple who were close friends. Good people, he’d told his neighbor, who had dreamed of living on the water, just as Negan and Lucille had.

Negan had found out from his sister in law, after the deal was done, his neighbor had sold the house for a song. He wondered why the old man hadn’t just given the couple the house, since he’d had no family to leave his money. Despite his own tendency to be brutally honest, Negan wasn’t crass enough to ask Dale the question when the man had told him about the eventual sale. Even though their new neighbors had been hand picked, Negan had worried about the couple, hoping they weren’t pretentious assholes who really couldn’t afford to live on the water.

“Like us?” Lucille had teased her husband with a grin when he'd expressed the concern. “You know our paltry teachers’ salaries barely pay our property taxes. We would have never been able to afford the mortgage on this place if dad hadn’t left us the money he did." Negan knew she was right, but he still was more than a little bitter about the final selling price of the house next door and hoped their new neighbors weren’t going to invade his haven on the water with screaming children and barking dogs.

_______

“Did they look nice? Are they young or old?” Lucille prodded him weakly for information as he leaned over the railing of the bed in the living room to kiss her hello, taking in her pale, gaunt face.

“You know I’m not good at that kinda shit, Lucille. A little younger than us, maybe?”

“Any kids? I never got the chance to ask Dale for any details about them, other than what he shared.” She closed her eyes for a minute, taking a rest from the conversation, trying to build up more energy to talk to her husband a bit longer.

“Didn’t see any. Just the couple.”

When he had pulled in the driveway after work, Negan had spotted what what must be their new neighbors, at Dale’s front door. He recognized them from the man's funeral. The husband handed a set of keys to his wife, waiting while she unlocked the door and pushed it inward, leaving it wide open. They were lucky there were no steps on the path leading up to the house, because the man was sitting in a wheelchair, grinning at his wife as she turned back to him. She leaned down to him, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him softly on the lips. They were the sickening fucking picture of happy new homeowners, and Negan rolled his eyes as he turned off the ignition of his Charger, when the husband pulled his wife down into his lap and hit the switch on his electric wheelchair, rolling them through the front door, carrying her, so to speak, over the threshold. _H_ _ow fucking romantic._

Lucille asked a few more questions about her husband’s observations, with her eyes closed, since her much desired energy was elusive. She was hoping he would have something in common with their new neighbors. They had to be good people, since Dale had spoken so highly of them. Apparently Irma had befriended the woman when they started working at the same dance studio in the evenings, teaching ballet and barre exercise classes. When Dale's wife had gotten sick, apparently her friend had pitched in to help him care for Irma until she passed. The old man had mentioned wanting to have a get together with both couples, once he got to know Negan and Lucille, but it had never happened.

Lucille trusted Dale’s judgement of character, so she was sure they had to be decent people. It would be nice to think Negan would have someone to chat with, or share a beer after she was gone. Hopefully he'd be on his best behavior when he met them. Her husband could be off putting, a downright asshole at times, his sarcastic wit and biting comments a defense mechanism he used to hold people at arm’s length.

She had met her husband in college, at the University of Maryland. He had been a mouthy jerk, a player on the Terrapins basketball team. Full of himself, and so impressed with his own talent, he'd wanted everyone around him to be impressed, too. She had seen right through his cocky facade, knowing there must be a reason why he worked so hard at being downright obnoxious. They’d had a few classes together, partnering up in chemistry and english for some projects because he knew she was a “fucking brainiac”, he had told her later. He’d been a lackluster student at best, despite his intelligence.

Her quiet, laid back personality complimented his hard charging, mouthy one. They had studied together and gone to parties together, and the basketball star looked out for his quiet friend, making sure no one messed with her. They quickly became inseparable, spending all their time together when Negan didn't have basketball commitments, or a date. Lucille had been the person to break it to him his super hot girlfriend was cheating on him with someone else on his team, and Negan had given Lucille’s geeky former boyfriend a black eye when the loser had bad mouthed her after the pair had broken up.

At the end of their junior year, when Negan had suffered a knee injury on the court, Lucille was the one who had pushed his wheelchair around campus and made sure he kept up with his assignments and exams so he could finish the semester on schedule. When he had found out his injury would prevent him from returning to the basketball court, his multitude of basketball friends and groupies disappeared one by one, leaving him in the dust. Only Lucille, and Negan’s team and dorm mate Simon, had stuck by his side, and he had clung to them both, in his very macho way of course, after being abandoned by everyone else.

During their senior year, much to Lucille’s delight, their friendship had turned to romance, and Negan had asked her to marry him shortly after they graduated. They had rented an apartment in Alexandria, Virginia and his buddy Simon had followed him to work at Mount Vernon High School close to their home. Both men still taught physical education at the same school, twenty years later. Negan also coached the football and ping pong teams, while Simon coached track. Unfortunately, the position of coach for the boy’s basketball team was already filled when Negan had started at the school. The coach, Shane Walsh, was a total fucking prick who also happened to be Principle Grimes’ best friend, so Negan didn't stand a chance at taking over the basketball team. While her husband taught high school, Lucille had always been more interested in molding younger minds, and had taught first grade at the local elementary school until she’d gotten sick from her chemotherapy.

_________

“She had good day,” Lucille’s older sister came down the hallway from the direction of the master bedroom, carrying a scarf in her hand. “What do you think?” She held up the piece of silky cloth for Negan to see. “I bought her something a little more colorful to wear.” Joanne had been a God send in the last several months, playing nursemaid for her sister during the day while Negan was at work, helping until he could finish out the school year and take care of Lucille full time.

He took the scarf from his sister in law, nodding thoughtfully, folding it on the diagonal as he sat down on the edge of his wife’s bed. “I’m telling you doll, I like your buzz cut, but if you insist on covering your head, this is definitely better than that fucking old lady turban you’ve been wearing!” he told her exuberantly, mustering a grin as a tear rolled down his wife’s pale cheek. He heard Joanne in the background, gathering her purse and keys and quietly shutting the front door as she left, giving the couple the privacy they needed.

Lucille knew she wasn’t a beautiful woman, even before she lost her hair. Cute maybe, but not beautiful or sexy, like the woman her husband had had a several month affair with up until a few months before, the affair which had cemented her lack of confidence in her physical appearance.

She had suspected Negan was cheating, when he suddenly started staying late after football practice, one or two nights a week in the fall. At the same time he started staying late, habits which had been set in stone had suddenly changed. On the nights he came home late, instead of sitting down and eating the dinner Lucille had set aside for him the minute he walked in the door, as he normally would, he would head to the master bathroom to take a shower before he kissed her hello with minty fresh breath and sat down to eat. His routine had not faltered in all the years he'd been coaching, so the change was glaringly obvious and suspicious. Lucille had initially chosen to ignore the signs, not wanting to believe her husband would cheat on her, but after a few months of his repeated, sketchy behavior, she couldn’t deny what was going on.

She’d been hurt, but also stymied. Negan hadn't withdrawn from her, or been any less affectionate with her, and he’d still crawled all over her in bed two or three times a week, wanting to get laid. She had thought they'd been doing remarkably well for a couple who had so many years of marriage under their belts.

Her incredibly intelligent, but very stupid husband hadn't thought about the fact they both had the Fone Finder app downloaded on their cell phones, just in case one was ever lost. When Lucille remembered this as she’d eaten dinner alone one evening, she reluctantly had opened the app on her phone, selected Negan's phone number from the drop down menu, and a few seconds later the location of the phone had been pinpointed on a local map. She repeated the process the next two times he “stayed late” at school and found he was frequenting an apartment complex a few miles from the high school.

After a few months of crying to herself over the affair, and trying to convince herself her husband would realize his mistake and end whatever was going on, Lucille had finally gotten up the nerve to drive over to the apartment complex on one of the nights Negan didn’t come home for dinner. She sat in her car, parked several rows back from the front of the two buildings closest to his phone's pinpointed location, and she waited. There was a floor to ceiling window in the center of each building, so she could easily see each well lit staircase leading up to the top floor. She had waited for two hours and fifteen minutes, watching people come and go before a tall, handsome, cheating asshole in a black leather jacket and biker boots had come out of an apartment on the second floor, pulling his car keys out of his pocket. He turned back to talk to a pretty young woman with long dark hair who stood in the doorway in an oversized tee shirt and no pants. She was everything Lucille was not, in Negan's wife’s mind; curvy, sexy, and beautiful, with gorgeous long hair which shone in the light of the landing. Lucille was mesmerized by the hair falling over the woman’s shoulders, always having wished she had long, thick hair, but it hadn't been in the cards for her. She had thin, fine hair which she'd kept styled in a chin length, trendy bob, and she’d been happy with it until she saw Negan's mistress. One look at the woman had made Lucille feel frumpy.

The amateur detective had waited for five minutes after Negan had driven away, wiping away her tears and trying to pull herself together. She made her way to a local mini mart close to their home to buy a few odds and ends. Fifteen minutes later she'd walked into their home as if she simply had made a run to the store, leaving the bag of goods on the counter for Negan to see when he came out of the shower. He’d texted her the minute he had walked into their empty house, asking where she was, because it had been an anomaly for his wife not to be at home when he arrived and he'd been worried about her, the jerk.

Telling Negan she had already eaten, and had papers to grade, she'd spent the evening in the study, doing just that, because she couldn't look at him. It had been all she could do to wait until he was asleep that night, to pull the high school's last year book off the shelf in the living room and rifle through it until she’d found who she was looking for. Rosita Espinosa was a Spanish teacher at Mount Vernon. Lucille recognized the young woman from a retirement party they had attended at the end of the previous school year, for one of the other phys ed teachers Negan worked with.

The picture of Rosita, with her beautiful long, dark hair flashed through her mind several times every day, breaking her heart. She just didn't know what to do about it. Should she confront her husband? Should she tell him he needed to choose between them, because he couldn’t have his cake and eat it, too? Lucille hid her angst from him, trying to act as normal as possible while she scoured the internet before he'd get home each night, reading articles like, “Why Men Cheat”, “How To Keep Your Man Interested” and “Best Blow Jobs A-Z”, trying to give her husband a reason to end his affair. The jerk was having the time of his life, his wife had mused at the time. He had a hot mistress, and a wife who could now give him a toe curling, roll his eyes back in his head blow job. She would have been proud of her new found prowess, but the victory was bittersweet.

About the time she'd come to the conclusion she needed to call Negan on the affair, they’d found out she had cancer. She couldn't emotionally deal with both life altering issues at once, so she'd concentrated on chemo, and possible surgery, ignoring Negan’s nights out. Thank God her husband had a modicum of a conscience, and his late nights had quickly become fewer and further in between.

Though she had known she had much bigger things to be upset about, she couldn’t help it when she sobbed the day the majority of her hair had fallen out in the shower after a few rounds of chemotherapy, shocking her as it came out in fistfuls in her hands. The image of Negan's mistress's long, shiny hair had taunted her while she cried, as she'd thrown the clumps of hair in the trash, afraid they would clog the shower drain. She purposely left the mess in the bathroom waste can, knowing Negan would see it when he showered and shaved that evening. She’d hoped to hell it would induce a lot of guilt for the bastard. The bastard she loved with all her heart.

Lucille hadn’t let her husband see her with her head uncovered for a few months after she had lost her hair, her sister taking on the task of shaving the remaining bit of hair off her scalp after the majority of it had fallen out, and tying her little sister's first scarf around her head. Lucille shook her head at the memory as her husband tied the new, colorful fabric around her head, fussing with the edges to pull them forward the way she liked.

“Fucking gorgeous!” he winked at her as he finished.

“Liar,” she smiled sadly as she lay her head back on her pillow, her day’s ration of energy expended with the simple task of holding her head off her pillow while he tied the cloth.

Negan wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. “Well I think you’re beautiful, Lucille. I don’t give a fuck if you have the hair cut of an Army drill sergeant. You’re still my girl.”

He was teasing her about her current half inch long hair regrowth, and she nodded against the pillow with a chuckle, shutting her eyes, her fatigue taking her over. She slept more than she was awake these days due to the pain medications she was taking. “You should get something to eat. You have to be starving,” she murmured.

Negan stared at his wife for a moment before he nodded, knowing her suggestion meant she needed time to herself. She would send him away when she was feeling emotional, because she didn’t want him to see it, trying to be strong for him as if it would make his upset over what was happening to her any fucking less, he thought to himself. He, in turn, would most often pretend not to notice when she was upset, so she could feel her charade was successful. It was the least he could do for her. She’d always liked to take care of him, and the need hadn’t changed since she’d fallen ill. He’d wondered sometimes if he shouldn’t force her to talk about her feelings, but every time he tried, he couldn’t force the words to come out of his mouth. He convinced himself she’d tell him if she was struggling, or if she needed to talk.  

Even though he never had asked her how she felt about her illness, they’d had their huge emotional moment over her imminent death several weeks before, when Joanne had dropped Lucille off after a visit to the doctor’s office. His wife had been devastated after being told they were going to stop chemo, because it because it was having a negative impact on her heart and lungs, and surgery wasn't an option. She’d been weepy from the news and still sick and weak from her treatment the week before, so Negan had scooped her up in his arms after she’d shared the horrible news, to put her in the hospital bed in the living room, which had been delivered by the rental company while she was out. She had clung to him, sobbing, when he tried to lay her on it, confessing she was afraid to let him put her down, as beautiful as the idea had been to position the bed so she could see the water. She was afraid, she had explained to him, because she knew the piece of furniture would eventually be her deathbed. Negan had swallowed his heart back down his throat, telling her he would throw the fucking bed off the deck if she wanted, motioning towards the sliding doors in front of it. “Whatever you want, Lucille. Whatever you need. Just tell me.”

“I just need _you_ , Negan,” she’d confessed, fisting the front of his white tee shirt desperately with one hand as he stood holding her next to the bed. She’d not been talking about the hospital bed as she went on, “Just you and me until …” She couldn’t bring herself to say the words out loud.  “And no one else. If you don't think that’s too much to ask?” she had whispered earnestly through her tears, sounding as if she was afraid of what his answer might be.

She’d beaten around the bush, but Negan had known exactly what she was talking about. It had been the moment his heart had fucking broken for her. The moment he’d found out she had known he’d been cheating on her. The moment he’d known, despite the fact Lucille had tried to convince him otherwise over and over again, his father had been absolutely fucking right in calling him a worthless piece of shit all of his life. He had thought he’d been slick, working hard to keep his affair a secret from her, because he never wanted to hurt her. He loved his wife desperately, but after being married for twenty years, someone else had turned an eye his way. Someone who’d made him feel sexy and desirable, things he hadn’t realized he needed until they were thrown at him full force, in the form of a super hot, young Latina package named Rosita. He had been so fucking stupid to think he had been successful in hiding the affair, and he had felt like a total shit heel his wife felt she had to beg him to set aside his affair until she died, afraid he was so enamored of the woman he was sleeping with he wouldn’t want to give her up, even for his dying wife. Jesus, he was a total fucking prick.

Lucille had never had any self confidence, and had challenged him often while they were dating, “I don’t get it Negan. You could do so much better than me.” It was as if she had needed to hear the reasons why he’d chosen her, and was asking him to truly evaluate what he saw in her, to be sure of what he wanted before she totally invested herself in him. He’d never had the guts to tell her, maybe he didn’t want the girls she considered “better”. Maybe he felt safe with her because she worshipped him. Those other girls, the girls she thought were “better”, were super hot, fun at a party, and they looked great on his arm, but he didn’t feel safe with them because he knew they didn’t really _need_ him.

Since he’d spent his whole childhood being told he was a fuck up, and nothing would ever come of his worthless ass, he knew he didn’t deserve “better”. Lucille didn’t realize she was also better, just in a different way than the other women he’d dated. She was so much fucking better than he was, that was for sure. She was fucking perfect; witty, intelligent, cute, and submissive to his dominant nature, while still calling him on his bullshit. The difference with Lucille was, she was safe. She was a sure thing. She was safe because she wasn’t super hot, with a handful of other guys chasing her skirt. Lucille was safe because she adored him, and because he knew there would never come a day when she’d feel he wasn’t good enough for her, or feel she’d gotten tired of him. She would never cheat on him with one of his friends, because for some unknown reason, she thought he was all that and a fucking milkshake, and felt she was lucky to have him. He knew this because she told him so every goddamn chance she got, and he fucking loved her for it. He needed her for it. Negan felt Lucille could help him be a better man than the waste of a human being he’d been reminded, over and over by his father, he’d always been.  

When his dying wife had begged him to give up his affair, Negan had in turn, begged her forgiveness, assuring her the woman he was holding in his arms was the only woman he’d ever loved. He told her the affair was already over. He was lying through his teeth about having ended things with Rosita a few days before, but it was a little white lie to help his dying wife feel better, and it would be true as soon as he could break off the affair. The woman hadn’t been happy Negan’s wife had been taking up so much of his time lately, and the last time he’d seen her she had been bitching at him to make a decision as to what he was going to do about it. He’d known in that moment it was over, because no decent human being would want to keep him from spending as much time as possible with his wife in her time of need. The ultimatum had turned him off about the woman and the affair. He just hadn’t had the chance to let Rosita know yet.

“What’s she like?” Lucille had asked him as she lay on his chest after the emotional conversation had settled. In an effort to make her comfortable in her new bed, Negan had lay down on it himself with her in his arms, and she’d rolled herself so she was laying chest to chest on him while he laid on his back, because it was her favorite way to feel connected with him. She had genuinely wanted to know what his husband’s lover was like. Why he had chosen her. What the woman had, she didn’t have.

They had talked it out, and she had forgiven him because she didn’t have time to waste being angry with him when she was dying. She had also needed to forgive him, because she knew her husband, and if she didn’t, he would carry his guilt about the affair until the day he died, the same way he carried the guilt of not being able to defend his mother against his father’s verbal abuse when he was a child.

“She’s an asshole, Lucille,” he'd admitted as if he’d just figured it out himself. He shared the story of what had happened the week before, wanting her to know Rosita was in no way better than she was. “I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking getting myself tangled up with her. I guess she made me feel good about myself in some way.”

Lucille was quiet for a few minutes as she ran her fingertips over his collarbone. She finally spoke, quietly apologizing, “I’m sorry, Negan. I’m sorry I wasn’t giving you what you needed. I wish you would have said something.”

 _Jesus fucking Christ._ She was apologizing to him because she thought something she had done had driven him into another woman’s bed. Un-fucking-believable. “No Lucille!” he startled her with the vehemence of his statement, and her body jumped on top of his. Holding her head in his hands, he gently pulled her face up so she was looking him in the eye. “Don’t you ever, _ever,_ doubt you have given me everything I could ever want or need. _Do you understand me?_ What went on with her, had nothing to do with you. It was about me being the fuck up I am. You are the best fucking thing that ever happened to me, even though I don’t deserve one fucking bit of the love you give me every single fucking day.”  

Her eyes had gone wide as she looked at him surprised, he knew, at his sudden, sort of, romantic confession. He wasn’t one to talk about his feelings, unless she prodded them out of him. She’d looked him in the eye as she nodded at him, before laying her head back on his chest.

“You have such a way with words, my love,” she’d laughed softly at the string of ‘fucks’ in what he’d just confessed. He couldn’t help but laugh with her. After a few moments she had reassured him seriously, “You’re not a fuck up, Negan, no matter what your father told you. Making a mistake doesn’t make you a fuck up. It makes you human.”

They’d made love that night for the last time, in the bed looking over the water. She had resisted him initially, despite her desire, admitting to him she didn't feel very sexy since she’d lost her hair. He in turn insisted in his most dramatic tone of voice, he had never told her he had a secret fetish for bald heads. He’d made her laugh out loud, when he had confided, very seriously, he frequently rubbed one out while watching Yule Brenner and Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson movies when he was alone, before he finally cracked up, both of them laughing at his purposely ridiculous attempt to convince her he wanted her, hair or not. Her love for him had exploded beyond epic proportions in that moment.

Negan’s guilt ridden ass had made love to her sweetly and gently, not even asking for a blow job he knew she was too nauseous to even consider. He wanted, for once in their relationship, to be something other than a self centered dick and show her how much she meant to him, in the only way he really knew how. He may not be good with words, but he was a lady pleaser, having made it his business to learn all the little nuances of the female body, what women liked, and the thing which turned him on the most, what would make them orgasm at his bidding. And orgasm his wife did that night, twice. As they lay wrapped around each other afterwards, she had kissed him softly, teasing, “Boy, you _reeeally_ felt guilty! Have you done anything else wrong lately I’d enjoy knowing about?”

Negan had simply marveled at his fucking amazing, forgiving wife.

________

He woke up at one in the morning to the quiet sound of hydraulics raising the head of Lucille’s mattress into a sitting position. He listened, waiting to see if she would call to him for help with a bedpan, or a drink of water. He’d been sleeping on the couch in the living room, ten feet from the hospital bed, ever since she’d started sleeping there instead of in their room. She was so weak and her pain was so severe at times, it was easier on Lucille if he didn't carry her back and forth to the bedroom. He would sit in the armchair next to her in the evenings, reading the paper, or playing on his phone until she fell asleep, then would move to the couch where he would sleep for the night. Every once in awhile she would insist he sleep in the master bedroom, knowing he wasn’t getting quality sleep on a couch which was too short for his six foot two frame.

She must have insomnia, he reasoned with himself when she didn’t call for him, but instead looked out the sliding glass doors in front of her at the water beyond. Since she slept more than she was awake due to her pain medications, her body didn’t seem to know whether it was day or night anymore. She would just as often be awake for two hours in the middle of the night as she would during the day. After a minute or so of staring outside, she reached over to the folding table he’d placed beside her bed for the pair of small binoculars she kept there. She used them often to look at the wildlife which often made its way to their shore, loving the ability to feel connected with nature.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” he asked her softly after she’d held the binoculars to her eyes for a bit.

She didn’t seem surprised he was awake, but he could see her smile at the sound of his voice in the dim glow of a nightlight he’d plugged in near the foot of her bed so he didn’t break his fucking neck trying to get to her in the middle of the night. “The dock. I was just thinking about the fact we never did christen the dock like you wanted to, right after we moved in,”  she replied wistfully, lowering the field glasses and turning to her husband.

Negan rose to walk over to her, running the back of his fingers over her cheek. “I think you misheard me, Lucille. I wanted you to christen my _cock_ not the dock, and if I remember correctly, you did that right here on the living room floor,” he responded, smiling in the dark, even though she couldn’t see it. “And you did a great job if I remember correctly, riding me into the fucking sunset!”

“Mmm. That was one of my favorites,” she confessed. “I always liked being on top so I could control the pace.”

“That’s why you were always rolling me over?” He was surprised by the tidbit of information.

“Oh, yeah,” she came back at him. “I wanted to do it my way, since I put you in charge of everything else in our lives.” It was true. As he nodded in appreciation, her hand snaked between the railings of the bed, pushing between his thighs to massage his balls gently.

“Come on, Lucille! That’s not fair,” he complained. “I was already getting a hard on thinking about you fucking me senseless, and now you’re just making it worse!”

“Well, you have fun with that, lover boy,” she chuckled tiredly, continuing to fondle him as she pushed the button to lower herself back into a lying position, the little bit of energy she’d expended over the last few minutes tiring her out.

“Oh, don’t you doubt I will, lady.”  He teased, running his thumb down her cheek, to her lips, feeling the smile on her mouth as she kissed the tip lightly. It seemed like it had been so long since they'd been intimate, even though it had only been a few months. He missed the feel of her, and those amazing fucking blow jobs she'd been giving him before she got sick. He never had figured out why she'd suddenly decided she liked deep throating him. He leaned down to kiss her forehead, her breathing already evening out as she fell asleep.

________

It was only a week later when Negan had to apply for leave to take care of his wife full time. Joanne insisted she could continue to care for her sister for the last three weeks of school so he could continue to work, but he stood firm in his desire to take over. Lucille was looking weaker and feeling worse every day. Her pain was overwhelming, and a Hospice volunteer started coming in each day to make sure she was comfortable, talking with the doctor and making sure the appropriate level of narcotics were called in to keep her comfortable. She instructed Joanne and Negan on how to give Lucille an intramuscular injection of pain medication, to use when she was no longer able to swallow pills.

Once Negan took over as her full time caregiver, he insisted the volunteer show him everything he needed to do to care for his wife, and then impatiently asked her to leave. “I’ve got it under control,” he assured the woman as he practically pushed her out the door.

He didn’t want a stranger sharing the last bit of time he had left with his wife. He had been living in a bubble with her since he’d started caring for her full time, tightly controlling their privacy by setting a three hour window of visiting hours for anyone who wanted to see her. He would use the short time her siblings and close friends could visit to shower, eat lunch, shop and run other errands out of the house.  

Taking care of his wife was the one thing Negan felt he could do for Lucille after spending their entire marriage letting her cater to him. He made sure he was awake when she was awake, no matter the time, day or night. He slept when she did, and since she was only awake for a handful of hours each day, he used the rest of his alone time to take care of other household tasks. He put a call bell on her bedside table, so she could let him know when she woke up if he wasn’t in the room. When he heard the bell, he would drop what he was doing and go to her, compelled to be with her for her every waking moment.

He read to her, at her request, or talked to her, sharing his favorite memories of their time together as he held her hand through bed railing, and she would nod and smile with her eyes closed, drifting in and out of sleep.

He was sitting with her as she slept one day, looking out over the water, when he heard her tired voice murmur, “I wish you could lay with me.”

“Me, too,” he admitted, caressing her hand through the railing, but it just wasn’t possible to squeeze into the twin sized bed with her. She needed all of its space to try to maintain some tiny level of comfort, due to her high level of pain.

When her sisters came to visit that afternoon, Negan told them he needed to run an errand, grabbed the keys to Lucille's SUV and left. The women raised an eyebrow at each other when he returned, wheeling a hospital gurney he’d rented, quietly through the front door, since Lucille had fallen asleep while he was gone. He not so politely insisted it was time for the women to go, even though the short visiting hours he’d imposed weren’t over. When he was alone with his wife again, he lowered the railing on one side of Lucille’s bed and wheeled the gurney as close as he could, raising it to the height of her mattress. Grabbing the book he was currently reading, and the iPad on which he wrote out football plays and notes, he lowered the closest railing on her bed, and raised the railing on the outside edge of the gurney. He settled in next to his wife in their new makeshift nest, moving as close to her as he could manage without compromising her comfort.

Negan ended up dozing off next to her, waking at the feel of her fingers running along his jawline. She had her head turned to face him, sporting a smile a mile wide. “You made my wish come true,” she whispered, her voice full of awe.

“I had to.”

“You always did, you know,” she squeezed his side lightly as she praised him softly, “make all my wishes come true.”

“I tried, Lucille.” He breathed a sigh of relief at her confession, after having spent the last several months wondering if he could and should have a better husband for his wife. "I never wanted anything more than I wanted to make you fucking happy, even if I didn’t always do a good job at it,” he confessed, his voice full of emotion with the realization they were talking about their life together in the past tense. _Fuck! I’m not fucking ready for this!_

“You did an amazing job, my love,” she reassured him softly, with a smile. “I’ve always felt so lucky you picked me. You need to remember that.” She gave him one more squeeze as she closed her eyes, falling back to sleep within seconds.

Negan couldn’t stop the handful of tears which fell as he watched her, and he wiped at them away impatiently with his fingers. It was the only time, through it all, he allowed himself the luxury of emotion.

________

He hated the fucking pain medication, but she needed the fucking pain medication. When he gave her the new, heavier medication needed to control her pain, she was all but comatose, sleeping most hours of the day and night. When she finally did wake up, she was either incoherent or she was in horrible pain. If she was coherent, she would try to tough it out so she could spend a few lucid minutes with him, but he could read her pain, and he would insist she take her medicine. Their best moments were after she’d she’d taken it, and they were just starting to kick in. The medication would take the edge off her pain, and they would have fifteen minutes or so in which they could talk quietly or just be together while she was still lucid without the excruciating pain.

Negan woke up at the crack of dawn one morning to the feel of Lucille moving next to him. It startled him because she barely moved any more, and he had to be sure to turn her, and prop her with pillows so she didn’t get bed sores. He opened his eyes to find her arranging her blankets around herself. She pulled the scarf off her head with one hand smiling at him when she noticed he was awake, continuing with her task as he stretched. Running her fingers slowly over her flattened short hair she frowned, and reached between the railings of her bed and dipped her finger tips into the glass of water which sat on the table next to her. He watched silently, with fascination, as she ran the wet fingers through her hair before she frowned again and reached back between the railing and dipped all of her fingers down in the full glass of water. She moved her dripping hand back up to run it through the top of her hair, announcing softly, “That’ll do it!” as she pushed the short hair back around her ears on the sides, dipped her hand in the water again and then used it to spike the hair on the top. “How’s that?” she asked, turning to him with her eyebrows raised in question.

“It looks great, actually,” he answered, clearly surprised she had done such a great job with her impromptu new hair do.

“Will you make some coffee? I want to smell your morning coffee.” She smiled at him and nodded at him as if to say, “Go ahead.” She hadn't been interested in the sight, smell or taste of food for a long time, having totally lost her appetite. She hadn't had any solid food for a few days, only asking for a drink of water occasionally to wet her lips. The Hospice volunteer told him this was normal, when he’d asked the woman about it the day before, and she had advised him gently to prepare himself because it was the beginning of the end.

Her request intrigued Negan, as did her interest in tidying herself up. Negan didn’t know where her sudden burst of low level energy was coming from, but he wasn’t going to question it. She wasn't dancing a jig, still moving and speaking tiredly, but he'd take what he could get. He hopped out of bed and headed to the kitchen, fifteen feet away, and started a pot of coffee. She rambled quietly at him the whole time he worked, sounding sedated, but cheerful as she raised the head of the bed to look out the window. She talked about how she must be pale, since she hadn’t stepped into real sunlight for weeks and weeks, and she cheerfully lamented the fact they never did take that vacation to Hawaii they’d always wanted to take. She asked him if he’d started thinking about football tryouts and practice, which always started weeks before school did.

“It’s only the beginning of June, Lucille,” he laughed at her. “I have a some time before I need to think about that.”

“I know how you are, Negan,” she ribbed him. “Your obsession will begin again in a few weeks, even if practice hasn’t started yet.”

“You know me too well,” he conceded, pouring a cup of the finished coffee, adding his sugar and milk, and carrying it back to the living room.

“Here,” she patted the gurney, gesturing for him to sit back down beside her. “Take a drink and kiss me with your coffee breath like you used to do every morning. I miss it.”

He smiled and nodded at her request, scooting as close he could next to her. He took a sip of the steaming beverage, and leaned over to kiss her softly, lingering and playing, grazing back and forth over her lips a few times with his to make the intimacy last. She hummed at the taste and the sensation before she lay her head on his shoulder. They sat in silence for a few moments, and he wondered if she was in pain, afraid to ask her because giving her the pain medications would mean the end of the much needed moment they were sharing. For once he was going to wait until she asked him for her pills.

“I’m going to die soon, Negan,” she informed him out of the blue, very matter of fact in her tired voice, as they looked at the water. “I can feel it. I’ve heard stories about how people rally right before they die. I think that’s what’s happening today. I feel much better than I have in a long time.”

For some unknown reason he remained calm at her words, asking her the first thing which came to his mind, also matter of fact, in return, “Are you afraid?” _Because I am. I need you. I don’t want you to fucking go._ It would kill him to know she was afraid.

“Not afraid. Just sad,” she admitted, pulling at the front his shirt in a plea to get to him to turn to face her. He put one foot on the floor and leaned over to sit his coffee on one of the side tables close to his gurney and then turned to lay on his side facing her. When he had settled in, she continued as if she had to get her thoughts off her chest. “I’m sad to leave you … and I’m worried you’ll be a mess without me.” She smiled at the statement, and he couldn't help but  smile back at her. She wasn’t being presumptuous. She was probably fucking right.

“Don’t worry about me, Lucille. I can promise you I’ll be okay after things settle. The last thing I want is for you to be sad because you're worried about me.” He was answering her honestly because he knew she needed to hear it.

“I need you try to be nicer to people when I'm gone. Can you do that for me?” she appealed to him thoughtfully, “You’re going to need people, Negan. People besides Simon and Merle. Your buddies aren’t going to be enough.” Merle Dixon was the groundskeeper for the school, and Negan always told her, “the man is my fucking spirit animal, Lucille!” They were both beer drinking, crass assholes, her husband reminded her proudly every time she rolled her eyes when his friend’s name was mentioned. The description of the two of them was dead on. Simon was a little more refined, but only a little.

He nodded at her, genuinely wondering whether he could even tolerate more people in his life. Most people annoyed him, too sensitive for his brutally honest opinions and ball busting. _Bunch of fucking pussies._

“And find yourself a nice woman, once you get over me,” she winked at him. “Someone I would approve of. Definitely not someone Merle would approve of. Not one of those simpering, tall, tanning bed women who are afraid to break a nail. Find someone who is intelligent enough to keep you on your toes. Someone who challenges you, okay?” Again she was very earnest in her request, very serious despite her jokes.

He smiled, finding it amusing his wife was dictating the type of woman he should settle down with after she was gone. He could ignore her, but she knew him so well, he actually tucked her list of future girlfriend requirements away for later. “No fake fingernails or high hair,” he listed off as if he needed to be sure he heard her correctly, ticking off each requirement by raising one finger. “Intelligent, with beach ball sized lady nuts … Hey, can she have nice titties while she challenges me?” He absolutely fucking loved his wife’s laughter as she nodded her head in approval, and he reached out to entwine the fingers of his free hand with hers, rubbing the side of her thumb with his.  

“I’ll send you a sign to let you know she’s the right one,” she promised him with a soft giggle. “I’ll be sure lightning strikes her down if she’s not.”

They talked a while longer, Lucille reminding him he needed to call a roofer before next winter, because theirs needed to be replaced, and to make sure he cleaned out the gutters when she wasn’t there to nag him, so the basement didn’t flood when all the overflowing water pooled at sliding patio doors downstairs. The SUV registration would expire in November, so she made him put it on the calendar on his phone, along with which month the car insurance was due, telling him to pull the money to pay the bill out of the short term savings account.

“I’ll be watching out for you … ” she reassured him, wincing in pain as she tried to shift herself on her bed. “... if anything major comes up.”

He stared at her thoughtfully for several seconds wanting to believe she’d be keeping an eye on him, like she’d done throughout their years together. “I love you, Lucille, you know that, right? I hope you’ve never doubted how much I love you, even when I was being a prick.”

“Of course I knew you loved me, even when you were being a prick,” she smiled. Her tone changed to a more thoughtful one as she reminded him, “You can be a jerk sometimes, Negan, but you are a good man, and you’ve been a good husband.” After several seconds of quiet, out of the blue, she made a request of him. “I need you to promise me something.” She was quiet for a moment, looking him in the eye. “I need you to stay away from your father once I’m gone. I need to know you’ll stay away from him, because I won’t be here to undo the damage he does when he beats you down, verbally. Can you do that for me?” She nodded very seriously at him, wanting him to agree with her. “I need you to forget the ‘honor thy mother and father’ bullshit your mother spouted at you to keep you from pummeling him when he was treating her like dirt, and keeps you tethered to him. The man has never given you any reason to honor him, Negan. He doesn’t even deserve your time or attention.”

“Lucille, I can’t …” His wife had never spoken so bluntly about his father. She had always supported her husband, and reassured him after each of his ugly run ins with the man, but she had always kept her opinions about what she really thought of his dad, to herself.

She could see his hesitation in accepting what she was saying; his hesitation in agreeing with her. Early in their relationship, Negan had made it clear he wasn’t open to discussion about his mother or his father’s faults, and so Lucille had honored his request. There wasn’t time to pussyfoot around the matter anymore though, so she was going to deal with it head on.

“I need you to make a choice, Negan, right now. Him or me. I can’t be at peace if I know I’m leaving you here vulnerable, with him.”

He was caught off guard by her ultimatum, her impassioned plea, and the the idea she thought he was vulnerable. Vulnerable was the last word he’d use to describe himself, and he was more than a little offended at the idea … which was exactly why she had never shared her vision of how she viewed his position in his relationship with his father before now, he realized as he frowned at her incredulously.

She waved her hand at him as if to wave away his attitude, insisting gently, “Don’t look at me like that. It’s true, and you know it. We don’t have time to argue about it. I _refuse_ to waste precious time arguing about it. Just accept what I’m saying, and tell me, honestly, you’ll stay away from him, Negan. For me. Because it will make me happy.”

He shook his head slightly, fighting with what Lucille was asking of him, because it went against everything his mother had taught him was right and good.

“Don’t fight it, Negan. Don’t think it to death. Just do it. Just make up your mind, right now, to live the rest of your life without the burden of your father. You can be a good man, and still make this decision to cut his toxicity out of your life.” She was playing dirty, she knew, pressing him one last time, “Promise me you’ll do it, so I can die in peace.”

Lucille could see turmoil behind his eyes. She could see it in his clenched jaw and his tight lips. He wasn’t angry with her. He was conflicted. Conflicted because what she was asking of him went against everything he’d been raised to believe, and in contrast, because he had always trusted his wife’s wisdom implicitly.

She played her final card, knowing it might be the thing which would make him shut her down, because she was going to tell him his mother wasn’t perfect. “I know you aren’t going to want to hear this, Negan, but your mother should have protected you from him. She should never have expected you to take his abuse or watch her take his abuse. She should have never told you you if you wanted to be a good boy, you’d put up with it. Because what he did to you both was _wrong._ He is a hateful, small man, who made himself feel better by breaking down every bit of self worth you or your  mother ever had; tearing you both down so he could feel bigger in some warped way.”

Negan could see the shimmer of tears in her eyes as she pleaded with him. “Please promise me?” She begged him one more time. “I can’t stand the thought of him tearing you down, without me here to help you pick up the pieces afterwards.”

He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling for several long minutes, processing what she was telling him. Trying to decide, in essence, who he valued more, the woman beside him or his dead mother. Trying to decide who he believed more. Who he felt was right, his mother or his wife. He had to decide, because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he lied to his wife on her deathbed, and he needed to believe her in order to promise her.

Lucille saw the slight nod of his head, a few seconds before she heard the soft, “I promise,” he whispered before he turned back on his side to face her. “I promise you, Lucille.”

Negan could see the relief in her eyes and her expression as her body relaxed with his acceptance. Strangely, he felt relieved, too. He would have thought he would feel guilt or shame at the prospect of abandoning his father, but he felt relieved. Maybe his sense of relief should fucking tell him something.

“I love you.” She tapped her lips with her index finger, ordering him to kiss her. She cupped his face, rubbing her thumb over his lips after he complied, pure devotion in her eyes.

He helped her scoot to the far side of her bed, and moved onto the empty space to lay on his side with her in his arms. He didn’t know how long they lay quietly, but she finally spoke the words he didn’t want to hear. “My pain is starting to kick up quickly, sweetheart. I’m going to need my medication soon.” She sounded almost apologetic. She was quickly winding down. He could hear it in her voice and see it all over her as her demeanor changed radically in the course of a few minutes, the energy draining from her, and the pain rising, right before his eyes. It was as if she'd needed to settle some matters before she left him, so her body had rallied to give her the strength to do so. Since she she felt things were settled, her extra energy was pouring out of her like water through a sieve.

Negan had a moment of panic at her request. He wouldn’t deny her, but he he didn’t want to give the medication to her because he knew, instinctively, once they kicked in, this moment in time would be over. It would _all_ be over. He just knew it. He nuzzled his nose and lips into her shoulder in front of him, nodding. She ran her fingers through his hair, and when he heard her hiss in pain he reluctantly got up to grab the bottle of medication to count out what she needed and help her swallow the pills down with water.

For once in his life it wasn’t satisfying to be right. He had twenty more minutes in his bubble with his wife, murmuring to each other affectionately as they held each other before his wife fell asleep. She never woke up again.   


	2. Gigi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Realizing he must be her new neighbor, Gigi started to muster a smile for him, but it quickly faded when he didn’t bother to greet her, but started complaining to her instead.
> 
> “Hey doll, I hate to interrupt your housewarming party, but the parking situation is getting out of control in front of my place. I almost clipped my front bumper on the idiot’s car who’s blocking my driveway.” He motioned to his shiny black Dodge Charger with a dramatic swing of his arm. The car was still parked at the end of his drive, as if he was so put off by the near miss he had to jump out of his precious muscle car immediately and come over to complain to her about it. He was right the cars were parked bumper to bumper all the way down their winding road, but the foot of bumper in front of one side of his double driveway nowhere near qualified as blocking it. 
> 
> Gigi could only stare at the man, shocked at the way he was talking to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have skewed reality in this story, by shifting the lifeline of one of the most famous ballet dancers of all time so he is young enough for the events and relationships in my story. I suppose I should mention this story is fiction, and all events relating to the man are fictitious, other than some well known facts about his career.

Her world was spinning like an out of control carousel, and Gigi couldn’t stop the ride and get off. Or perhaps it was more like roller coaster, she changed her analogy, because lately it had seemed like all of the big hills, without any of the curves or small dips and peaks that gave you a little break before the next massive drop which made your stomach crawl into your throat. She desperately needed to get off the ride and put her feet back on stable ground.

“Hey lady! The little tree is in the way,” one of the rental company’s delivery men called to her through the screen door, as she stood at the counter of the island in the kitchen making notes on her list of To Do’s for the funeral and wake the next day. “You want us to put it here, or there?” He motioned over one shoulder, then the other with his thumb, showing her the options.

She pulled herself out of her thoughts and walked from the kitchen counter to the sliding glass doors, which lead from the family room out to the second story deck on the back of the new house. Their new house on the water her family hadn’t even moved into yet, or had time to enjoy together before Yuri had died four days before. She was standing at the island counter in the kitchen, because no furniture had been moved in yet.

Sliding the screen open, she stepped out onto the deck, looking at the options the man offered, and inquired, “You think if we put it this way we can keep it on this side of the center line of the dock?” She gestured with one hand as she spoke, to make herself clear.

She was sure Dale had told them the property line ran down the center of the part of the dock which ran from the shore, out over the water. The structure T’d at the end, so both houses had their own part of the dock to call their own. “But we share it really,” he'd informed her and Yuri as they had looked at the property when the younger couple had come over for dinner with he and Irma for the first time. “The guy next door is a little bit pompous, but once you get past the cocky persona, he’s a decent man. The wife’s an absolute gem. I use their side of the dock all the time to fish, since this side is shaded by those trees at the edge of the property in the early morning.” He’d pointed to some of the tall trees at the shoreline.

Gigi had never dreamed, when she and Yuri had oohed and ahhed to Dale and Irma over how much they loved the house on the water, their friend would take their excitement to heart and arrange for she and Yuri to purchase the house for such a low price, comparative to it’s value, when he passed away. Apparently they had no close family to leave the property to. The man had never told them of his intentions, only teasing them with, “Maybe one day you two will own a house just like this one,” when they’d raved about it. She and Yuri had assumed the proceeds from the discounted sale paid off a mortgage on the property or another estate debt.

“We can try to keep it on this side, lady, but it’s a big tent,” the man nodded at her with a cock of his head, as if he wasn’t convinced it was possible. Gigi wouldn’t bother with the tent at all, but the forecast was calling for the possibility of light rain the next day, and she knew the number of people attending the wake wouldn’t fit in the house should they all need to move inside. Her mother in law had questioned her as to why she wasn’t having the luncheon at a catering hall or restaurant, to which Gigi had replied she wanted to keep her savings account intact for the time being.

A widow for only four days, she was still reeling from the shock and the pain over her husband’s death, and had purposely numbed herself so she could get through the events of the next few days, which would include a hefty dose of her mother in law. Her husband’s funeral and wake were turning into major productions instead of the quiet intimate affair she would have preferred, so she hadn't had the time to process the loss of her husband, even if she'd been ready to do so. Yuri’s mother Natalia was a bit of a pill, insisting the funeral be worthy of her son’s fame. An upscale, pretentious funeral? Was she kidding?

Thanking the installer, Gigi went back inside to her list. Her best friend Carol had offered to help her coordinate the funeral and wake fully, but Gigi had kindly refused, telling her she’d call if she needed any advice. She desperately needed the distraction because she wasn’t ready to face Yuri’s death. She needed to get through the next few days and then she’d have time for a nice, healthy emotional breakdown, she told herself. _I need to sit on all of this for a bit, once things quiet down, and then maybe I’ll be able to bring myself to read his letter._

__________

Gigi had found out earlier in the day, her guesstimate for the number of attendees for the luncheon needed to be doubled, thanks to her mother in law’s wide social circle and her own and Yuri’s dance company friends who'd been messaging they were coming to town for funeral. She had immediately called her long time friend, T Dog, who owned the catering company she’d hired for the wake. “No problem, Gigi,” he immediately calmed her panic.  “I’ve already prepped the food for an event the day after tomorrow. I’ll just add it to your menu tomorrow and put Tiny and Oscar to work to replace it.”

 _Thank God for friends_ , Gigi thought to herself as she went back to her list.

_1\. Flowers for the funeral- Check._

_2\. Someone to move the flowers from the funeral and set them up at the wake- Check._

_3\. Tent, chairs, catering and alcohol- And more alcohol- Check. Check. Check. Check._

_4\. Upstairs and downstairs bathrooms clean? C_ _heck._

_5\. Orchestra musicians Yuri’s mother insisted on for background music? Check._

_6\. Note to self to make sure the musicians approach the overbearing woman at the wake to pay the remainder of the bill? Check, check, and check again._

She smirked at the thought of the woman being put on the spot for two thousand dollars. The amount of money wouldn’t be an issue, and not one to make a scene, her mother in law would simply pull out a credit card and hand it over, while reminding herself to discuss it with Gigi later. The widow smirked to herself at the thought of how she would simply ignore the phone ringing for a month or so to avoid Natalia’s wrath. Come to think of it, now that Yuri was gone, she had no reason to ever talk to her mother in law again after the wake. Call it a silver lining. The only one.

________

“Can you imagine?” Gigi could hear Natalia’s heavy Russian accent during the luncheon the next day, from the other side of the tent, “The famous prima ballerina, Gigi Sokolov, named after a _prostitute_?”

 _Oh my god, not again! She just loves to tell that story. Why am I even surprised,? I knew it was coming._ Natalia couldn’t get through one social event with her daughter in law, without sharing the story, even if everyone in attendance had already heard the story several times. It was a story which had been a long time source of amusement for Gigi’s family, until Yuri’s mother had turned it into a slight on both Gigi and her mother.

Gigi’s mother Estelle was infatuated with anything and everything French, and her daughter had always loved to hear the tales of her obsession. Her mother was quirky, in a preciously amusing way, and was also the kindest woman she’d ever met. Gigi loved her dearly.

Her mother’s infatuation with La France started when Madame Bertrand moved into her mother's neighborhood in the fifties, when Estelle was a little girl. Bridgette Bertrand dressed as if she had stepped off the pages of Vogue. She was beautiful, and eccentric, and her home was the quintessence of French culture. Her life, her accent and her persona were the absolute juxtaposition of life and culture in Jackson, Alabama where Estelle had lived with her family for all of her ten years of life.

Estelle had found every aspect of the woman’s life fascinating, and strived to live the very exciting French lifestyle Bridgette described, in every way she could, even asking her own mother, in her best French accent, if they could bake croissants. Or better yet, she rambled to her mother, could they ride their bicyclettes to the local market to get a French baguette and cheese to put in the basket attached to the handlebars? In response, Gigi’s Grandma Flo had informed little Estelle, in her heavy southern accent, cigarette bobbing from the corner of her mouth as she spoke, there was no way they could ride their damn bikes the five miles down highway twenty four to Foodland, and daddy couldn’t eat rich foods anyway, due to his gout, so there'd be no “crescent bakin’ neither … and, Estelle?” her mother had continued as she flicked the ashes off the end of her cigarette into the flower bed she was weeding, “Why are you talkin’ like you have rocks in your mouth?”

Estelle had sloughed off the minor setback in her plan to live like her beloved neighbor, and found other ways to immerse herself in French culture. She had insisted on wearing white gloves with her dresses to school every day, and had worn her long hair twisted up in a chignon, or as close to one as a ten year old could manage on her own. It had only taken thirty two bobby pins to keep it in place each day, and there were only a few hairs sticking out of the sides once she had gotten the hang of it. She had also taken to carrying one of her mother’s old beaded purses which she had carried to Aunt Effie's wedding before Estelle was born, because it had been similar in color to their French neighbor’s red velvet clutch she used for every day.

“Estelle! You ruin my good purse and I'll tan your hide!” her mother had warned her. “I'll need that for cousin Judy's weddin’ this fall!”

After two months of being teased relentlessly about her clothing and her hair, Estelle had slowly reverted to dressing like everyone else in response to the peer pressure, and had lost her much practiced, fabulous French accent. She had continued to visit Miss Bridgette regularly, but she hid her obsession with all things French from all of the “paysans stupide”, or stupid peasants, as she explained to Margaux. Margaret's obsessed best friend had started calling her by the French version of her name, because Margaret did not sound nearly as exotic as Margaux.

Estelle had finally gotten her chance to truly immerse herself in the lifestyle she coveted, when she married Gigi’s father, Jack, who she had decided early on to nickname Jacques because it sounded so romantic.  She had also ordered furniture and wallpaper for their home on a whim, without conferring with her husband, much to his chagrin. Their living room had resembled a brothel in springtime, according to Jacques, decorated in the color palette of peonies, a favorite flower in French gardens. While he worked, his wife played the ultimate roll of a French housewife, mastering the baking of croissants and cooking French dishes for dinner, much to her new husband’s delight.

When her first child was born, Estelle had named her after the French character Gigi, from the American musical named after its lead character. Estelle had insisted everyone pronounce the baby’s name with a soft “G” sound as they did in France, because she thought the name was glamorous and beautiful, like the baby’s namesake in the movie version of the musical. In the story, the lead character Gigi was trained by her aunt and grandmother, how to behave in high society so the young woman could find the man of her dreams to take care of her for the rest of her life. Estelle had found it oh so romantic, and the the actress who played the title character, the gorgeous Leslie Caron, was everything a woman wanted to be, the epitome of feminine beauty.

Gigi had thought being named after the stunning movie character was magical, and as a child, told anyone who would listed about the origin of her name. It wasn’t until she was performing with the New York City Ballet Company when she was eighteen, a friend had shocked her when she had asked, “You know that in the movie, Gigi was training to be a courtesan, don’t you? A high class call girl?” Of course, young Gigi had had no idea and had been mortified, calling her mother as soon as her eight hour rehearsal day was over, to ask her about her name.

“Noooo … really?” her mother had responded, and after a pause, “Ahhhh … now it all makes sense! … Oh _my_.”

“Oh my God, Mom! You seriously didn’t know?” The two of them had had a good laugh about the matter, while her father had just shaken his head at his wife’s mistake, apologizing to his daughter for not being more aware of American musical characters when her mother had insisted on the worldly name for his daughter.

________

“Yes!” Gigi could hear Natalia telling a group of friends who had gathered around to hear her loud tale. “Her mother had no idea at all she was naming her daughter after a prostitute! How could the woman watch a movie thirty times, as she professes, and not understand the gist of the story? It’s unbelievable!” She shook her head, rolling her eyes with a smirk.

Gigi purposely wandered into the group, laughing while she looked quite innocent in reminding her mother in law and her friends about a Russian prostitute who had made the news several years before, when she was arrested for kicking one of her john’s to death over his perverse sexual demands. “Her name was Natalia. I guess I’m not the only woman on earth who shares her name with a famous prostitute!” She laughed as she flitted away, leaving the group laughing in her wake, and her mother in law speechless.

_________

“If we can just get through today,” Gigi had reassured Marshall and Hannah that morning as they pulled into the garage with an SUV full of sleeping bags, air mattresses, folding furniture and suitcases, “then we can concentrate on moving in to our new house, and getting settled before you start at your new high school in the fall.”

She was heartbroken for the children, who had now lost both their biological father and adoptive father within a few years of each other. Gigi’s brother Pierre and his wife Karen had been killed in a car accident two years before, leaving the children orphaned. Gigi was their only aunt, since her brother’s wife was an only child. Karen’s parents were in their seventies, and Gigi’s parents were in their sixties, leaving both sets of grandparents in a place in their lives where raising two teenagers would be more than a little taxing, even if their desire to do so was genuine.

Since they had no children of their own yet, and desperately wanted to expand their family, Gigi and Yuri had stepped in immediately, and the teens had been relieved to find a home with their cool aunt and uncle. They had bonded as a family immediately, and the children had been very supportive when Yuri had suffered his first aneurysm the year before. They had been devastated when their aunt had broken the news about her husband’s death earlier in the week.

Gigi was aware the children were on the same turbulent roller coaster she was riding, and had been making sure to give them plenty of attention and affection over the last several days, which also helped keep her mind off her husband’s death. She was fully aware she was in avoidance mode, and had kept herself busy ever since she’d woken up and found her husband dead in the bed beside her several mornings before. She’d purposely kept herself busy, because she knew she wasn’t ready to deal with his death.

Gigi and Yuri had met when she auditioned for the American Ballet Theatre. She had started taking ballet lessons when she was four, also training in tap and modern dance from elementary through high school. Her dance instructor had recognized the girl’s talent, and had signed Gigi up to audition for a summer program with the New York City Ballet after her junior year of high school, sending in a video of one of her student's performances. Only the best dancers were invited to participate, and she was one of twenty teenagers from around the country who spent the summer dancing for eight hours a day, six days a week with the older, seasoned dancers of the company. At the end of the ten week program, Gigi and her new friends had performed with their mentors in a one week run of a special ballet, whose proceeds had benefited charity.

The summer ballet corps had been a glimpse into the arduous life of a professional ballerina and heightened the star struck teen’s desire to dance for a living. All of the participants, including Gigi, had worked unremittingly over the summer in the hopes their talent would be recognized, and they would be invited to dance with the company after high school. Her invitation to dance with the company had ended up being bittersweet, since she was one of only two who had been chosen, and the disappointment of the rest of her new dancer friends weighed heavily on her. She and the other invitee, Carol, had down played their excitement in front of the group, but had squealed and laughed and cried about it over the phone after they’d gotten back to their respective home states when summer was over.

Carol Anderson was a quiet girl from Georgia, who came from an unhappy home. Her father was overbearing, and her mother was unavailable, emotionally. She had been excited at the prospect of leaving her small hometown of Senoia, Georgia, to live the life of a prima ballerina in the big city. Gigi adored her, and they'd become fast friends as they roomed together over the summer, then talked on the phone for hours once they were home, several times a week throughout their senior year of high school, as they’d tried to imagine what their life would be like once they moved to New York after graduation.

Both girls had been naive, sure the two of them would be able to share a beautiful apartment in the city, because their starting salary with the ballet company would be more than they would have ever hoped to make in an entry level administrative assistant or teacher's position in their hometowns.

Their hopes and dreams hadn't turned out to be their reality. The cost of living had been so high in New York, Gigi and Carol were forced to share a two bedroom, roach infested apartment with four other girls. They had slept two to a room, and the new roommates had drawn straws to see who would be stuck sharing the sofa bed in the living room. When Carol had drawn a short straw, Gigi gave up her twin bed in one of the bedrooms so she could keep Carol company in the misery of not having any space of her own. The thin mattress in the sofa bed had smelled musty, and despite the friends’ attempts to air it out, the odor never did subside. The disappointed eighteen year olds had lain in bed that night, nose to nose, crying, trying to convince each other things would get better. It would all get better on their first day of work with the company.

“There’s something about her,” Louis Marchand had mused to the head of the company, Abigail Masters after working with the new dancers for their first week of rehearsal. The director had worked her way up through the company, finally being chosen to head the NYCB after fifteen years on staff. She had paid her dues as a dancer, and at twenty eight, when she realized she would never be one of the “chosen ones” who were groomed for starring roles, she had interviewed and was chosen to work in the administrative offices for the company.

Abigail had eyeballed Gigi as the girl stretched at the barre, wondering what it was everyone saw in her, since she’d yet to see the newbie dance. The teenager was beautiful, and naturally graceful, full of smiles and laughter as she talked with one of the other new girls, Carol something or other, while they warmed up. More than one instructor had approached the director over the week to sing the girl’s praises, gushing about how she had natural talent and the “it” factor. The big “ _it_ ” Abigail had never had.

The woman in charge had raised one eyebrow at the Louis, insisting, “She has to pay her dues, whether she has ‘it’ or not.” More than a little bitter about the vetting process for prima ballerinas, the woman had been trying to change the automatic rise of the most gifted dancers, to the top of the heap. Why not give some of the others a chance? You never knew when you’d find a diamond in the rough, and she’d only wished someone would have given her the chance to prove herself. The man had simply shrugged at her, sure the woman would change her mind once she saw Gigi dance. She hadn’t. Or rather, she’d refused.  

A few years later, during a performance of Giselle, the world famous Russian ballet dancer, Mikhail Baryshnikov, along with the rest of the NYCB audience, couldn’t help but notice Gigi during a pas seul, a solo dance Louis had fought for the prodigy to dance, passing over the other seasoned ballerinas in the corps. Louis had fought for three years to move Gigi up the ranks more quickly, and had finally taken matters into his own hands to give the girl her chance. He and Abigail had quarreled over the girl being given the role, the head of the company threatening his career should he ever defy her directives about casting again.

After Gigi's five minute performance, the entire audience, including Mikhail, were left with a yearning for more. The star had insisted on meeting the performers after the show, and Abigail had ushered the handsome man behind the stage, talking up the leads in the show, introducing him to them first. Mikhail had been full of charisma and praise as he talked with the pair who played Giselle and her lover Albrecht, while his eyes searched the room for the tiny dancer who had stolen the show. The minute he laid eyes on her he politely excused himself to Abigail and the two leads, and made a beeline for young woman.

Gigi had been standing with Carol when Mister Baryshnikov had approached her, and both young women were speechless and awe struck as he introduced himself and began to sing Gigi’s praises, asking her question after question about her dance background and her position at the NYCB. He’d found Gigi to be humble, grateful for the opportunity to dance with her prestigious company, and she harbored no ill will and had no harsh words to say about her lowly position in the background of the company when he asked her if she wanted to move up the ranks. She’d confided to him she could only hope she was a good enough dancer to be a prima ballerina one day. It was clear she didn’t know the superiority of her own talent. Mikhail had found her absolutely enchanting, chuckling when the young dancer kept calling him “Mister Baryshnikov” over and over.

“Call me Misha, Gigi,” he had insisted as he handed her his business card, taking down her phone number promising, “I _will_ be in touch.” He turned to walk away from the two young dancers, who could only nod and try to keep their jaws from hitting the ground. What he would be in touch about, Gigi had no idea, but she desperately hoped he'd call.

Mikhail had immediately made his way to the lobby, calling a colleague at his company, the American Ballet Theatre. “I’ve found the perfect partner for Yuri Sokolov,” he’d informed his friend. “She’s _magic._ Absolutely magic.”

The rest of Gigi and her husband's story was ballet history. A few months before the small town girls had arrived in New York, the ABT had enticed the young and very talented Yuri Sokolov to stay in New York and dance for their company after he’d come to America as part of an exchange program with Russia's Bolshoi Ballet. He was only nineteen years old, but had been dancing with the Bolshoi for two years, starting when he was still in high school. It was clear the young man had more talent in one big toe than all the other male dancers in the company put together, and his instructors groomed him for the position of lead dancer as soon as they’d recognized his talent.

There had only been one problem. Yuri was shorter than average, five foot six like his idol Mikhail Baryshnikov, and none of the ABT’s ballerinas “fit” him. The head of the company had lamented it may be impossible to find a girl who was the right fit  for Yuri. She would need to be petite, and would need to physically compliment Yuri’s powerful frame. Mikhail knew, the moment Gigi danced into the center of the stage, he was looking at Yuri’s new partner. She was petite, and her muscles were long and lean, yet she was not so slight that Yuri's powerfully muscular frame would dwarf her.

The two young dancers had been introduced at Gigi’s try out for the American Ballet Theater. Mikhail had contacted her as promised, and had skirted around the word audition, inviting her to dance for him for a day at his company. She’d had no idea this was something very out of the ordinary. Yuri had been invited to the audition under the pretense they needed him to partner with a gifted dancer they were trying to entice into their company; someone Misha was considering for a role in his new ballet. The star had wanted to bring the two dancers together, without influencing or hindering their performance by telling them their day with him would be the deciding factor in whether he would pair them in his new ballet.

Gigi had felt like she was in heaven, when her idol had spent the first half of the day teaching her some new choreography. At first he’d worked with her one on one, and the young dancer had trembled with excitement in the man's arms, their close proximity and intimate positions making her swoon. He was so handsome, and sexy, and she'd never danced with a partner with Misha's level of experience, before. She'd felt like the virgin who was relying on her partner to show her the way the first time they made love. It had been so intimate and so beautiful.

After a light lunch, Mikhail had brought in Yuri to dance with her. She had been thrilled to meet the handsome young dancer with the Russian accent like Mikhail's, who she’d guessed was about her age. Working with him was less intimidating than working with one of the more accomplished ballerinos of the company, and would give her a break from the nervousness she had felt working with Misha.

Yuri had been patient and encouraging with the girl who had little experience dancing with a partner, and Gigi had found herself quickly syncing with him, easily understanding his body signals when he would shift her weight, pat her leg, position her arm gently with his hand, or lift her.

Mikhail had never seen anything like it. He’d found himself standing in the corner of the room, fascinated, as the pair danced, without much prodding or correction from him, to see how they would interpret his choreography. Yuri had learned to read the girl easily, and quickly learned how to move with her. It wasn’t long into the session, before Misha’s new ballerina had learned to read her partner as well, and she’d turned the tables here and there, stopping Yuri to instruct him, or let him feel her move, so he could consider how to compliment her within the guidelines their instructor had set. Within a few short hours, they had been the most beautiful poetry in motion, and Mikhail could see their brilliant future in the mirror in front of them.

Their mentor’s expectations had risen as the day went on, and he started to drive them harder, demanding perfection because he knew they could achieve it _. "Again!_ ” he had ordered, snapping his fingers, and the pair would comply, listening to his instruction and fine tuning their dancing before he would immediately repeat, “Again!”, or “Do it over! You can do better!”, not cutting them any slack because time was running out.

At the seventh hour, both dancers were exhausted, physically showing signs of their fatigue, when two women and two men had walked into the room, greeting Mikhail and talking quietly with him while Yuri and Gigi grabbed a drink of water and a towel to dry off their necks and faces. “It's the director of the company, and three of the top instructors,” Yuri murmured to her. “They've come to see you dance. Misha wants you to dance one of the lead parts in his new ballet.” The young man had been totally unaware it was his audition as well.

Seeing the shock on her face, Yuri squeezed her hand, reassuring her gently, “You are amazing, Gigi. The most beautiful dancer I've ever seen. They'd have to be crazy not to love you.” _Because I think I already do.You are perfection,_ he’d mused as Mikhail walked across the room towards them. The young man had no way of knowing Misha felt the same sense of awe about the young woman’s dancing.

The star had looked them over, reading the exhaustion on their bodies and faces. “One more time for me? Once more and you’re done,” he'd promised, reaching out to lay his hand on Gigi’s cheek as she’d nodded at him, smiling at the determination in her expression. She and Yuri had looked at each other, also nodding at one another in encouragement, confirming they could make it through one more run. “I know you can knock them dead!” their instructor had encouraged them.

They'd moved themselves into their starting positions at either end of the room, and their small audience had raised their eyebrows in surprise as the pair’s fatigue, which was palpable seconds before was suddenly gone, and they'd  instantly transformed into two lovers who were longing for each other across the expanse. Misha's colleagues had been able to feel their energy and emotion, just as the star had. As she'd waited for the music to start, Gigi overheard Mikhail’s voice quietly raving to his four colleagues seated along one wall, “Wait until you see them. Better than even I could have ever imagined!” Her heart had just about burst at his words, inspiring her to give him her absolute best for their final run through.

Before they'd left the room that day, Gigi had been to be invited to join the American Ballet Theater, and to partner with Yuri for Mikhail’s new ballet, among other projects. It was an opportunity Gigi couldn’t turn down, and she’d accepted on the spot. Her contract with the NYCB was going to end the following month, and even though Louis had assured her it would be renewed, Gigi knew she’d found her true home in the ballet world after working for only one day with her magnificent tutor and her new partner. When their long day was finally over, Misha had called Louis Marchand, and thanked the man for inviting him, on the sly, to attend the performance of Giselle to check out the potential prima ballerina dancing the pas seul, who’d been languishing in the NYCB's corps. It wasn't until years later Mikhail had shared with Gigi the story of how Louis had helped him discover her.

Gigi had continued to live with Carol and her other friends from her original dance company while she’d rehearsed with Yuri and the rest of the ABT dancers. She needed to come home to their friendly faces, she’d told Carol after her first week of rehearsals, because the dancers in her new company were not very nice to the new girl who had unintentionally, repeatedly stepped on their toes. The women of the ABT corps were not only unhappy Gigi had stolen the coveted lead in Misha’s new ballet from one of their own. They were also unhappy she was stealing all of the attention of one of the greatest ballet dancers of all time, as well as the handsome, new, young Russian dancer they all wanted to bed.

It was unheard of for two novices to be granted the leads in such a prestigious project, but Misha had been sure the pair would not disappoint him. He was right. His new ballet had opened to rave reviews for both Mikhail’s modern choreography and for the new darlings of the ballet world. Gigi and Yuri had been a beautiful breath of fresh air for ballet aficionados looking for some new talent to follow. Natural talent, and the amazing chemistry between the two fledgling dancers had rocketed them into the limelight in the dance world. This had been helped along by a well crafted PR campaign spearheaded by Misha and the promotions department of the American Ballet Theatre, in an attempt to update ballet’s image, draw in a more varied audience, and hopefully increase revenue in the process. It had been a great success. Within a month of the opening, Abigail Masters had been asked to step down as director of the New York City Ballet, for having lost such an amazing talent to their competition. At the same time, Louis Marchand had accepted an offer to work with the ABT, personally invited by Misha Baryshnikov.

It was unusual for classical ballet dancers to have a following outside of the limited world of high society season ticket holders, and it was a feat which had only been accomplished by a few dancers before Yuri and Gigi, such as Nureyev and even more so, by Baryshnikov. Like their predecessors, Yuri and Gigi were not only loved in the world of classical dance, but also in the fringe of pop culture.

It was no surprise to anyone when the pair had fallen in love. Their wedding, which had taken place two years after they had first partnered, had been celebrated in both the Russian and American news.

The husband and wife team had lived a dream life, before their perfect world had come crashing down around them.

_________

“Gawd, that woman is a bitch,” Grandma Flo lamented about Yuri’s mother, the word “bitch” pronounced with two syllables. Gigi had walked over to hug her after she’d put Natalia in her place and skirted over to her Alabama relatives who were camped in one corner of the tent, most of them not comfortable mingling with the ballet set.

“Mama, be nice!” Estelle chided, giggling at her mother’s honesty. She really did not care for Natalia at all, and didn’t know how Gigi had put up with all the years of passive aggressive insults. She knew her daughter had often bitten her tongue at Natalia’s nasty remarks, and she wondered, now that Yuri was gone, whether Gigi would still feel the need to temper her words.

“Where’s that handsome Russian fella?” Grandma Flo asked as she pulled another cigarette out of her favorite red velvet clutch purse, ignoring Estelle’s scolding about Gigi’s mother in law. “The one who danced with me at your weddin’.”

“Misha?” Gigi chuckled at the question. Her grandmother was unaware of the notability of the man who had made her weak in the knees when he gracefully whisked the woman around the dance floor at her wedding reception years ago. Flo could have cared less who he was. She simply thought he was a “divahhn” waltzer, and was impressed he actually knew how to dance the Lindy. “He’s making his rounds, grandma. I’m sure he’ll come over and say hi as soon as he has the chance. You know he always asks about you.”

Kissing the elderly woman on the cheek, she squeezed her mother’s arm and winked at her dad. Leaving her relatives in the corner of the tent, she moved back out into the crowd, ready to mingle, having regrouped within the comfort of her people for a few minutes. What she didn't tell her grandmother,  was she'd actually been avoiding Mikhail, knowing she would likely lose it when she finally was near his comforting presence. He was like family to both her and Yuri, the one person at the wake who really knew the ballerina was hiding her devastation, refusing to deal with it head on, because he’d called her every day since her husband had passed, to check on her. She was afraid she would crumble if Misha turned his eye her way, because she would be safe to do so with him. He seemed to know this as well, and had walked wide circles around her at both the funeral and the wake, only approaching her for a few seconds in the line of attendees expressing their condolences as they had left the church, for a kiss on the cheek and a brief hug. She couldn’t stop the quiet whimper she had breathed in his ear as he hugged her, and in response she'd felt his hand squeeze her waist as he whispered into her ear, “I’ll find you later, malyshka.” Baby girl. It had been his Russian nickname for her from the first time he worked with her, long before the term became popular with the teens and twenty somethings in more recent years.

One of Yuri’s long time fellow dancers at the ABT stood up from his table under the tent to propose a toast to Gigi’s husband, telling the story of how he and Yuri had met years ago, and lauding his friend as both a stunning dancer and a goodhearted man; a man who was devastated when he could no longer dance. Who among you, he appealed to the other dancers in attendance, wouldn’t understand Yuri’s state of mind? How must Gigi feel in this moment, to lose her partner in dance and in life? The man was the first of a few dozen people to stand and offer praise, readings, or fond memories of time spent with the man who had died in such a heart wrenching, tragic way. Many of the stories about Yuri’s life included Gigi, because to talk of Yuri was to talk of his greatest love, since they were like one and the same person, complimenting each other both in dance and in life.

Gigi smiled, shed tears, and laughed at the many stories shared by her and Yuri’s friends and family, and the emotions she’d been trying to keep in check for several days bubbled closer to her surface and threatened to spill over in a torrent she knew would be hard regain control of if it broke loose. She was grateful when the last person finished their speech, and people started to talk among themselves again, or head to the bar for another drink, giving her the opportunity to steal away into the house for a moment alone. She felt like she couldn’t move fast enough as she failed in her attempt to keep tears from forming in her eyes. She ran up the steps, across the second story deck and through the sliding patio doors, dismayed to find a dozen people had congregated in the large kitchen on the left and the large, open family room to its right, inside the doors. She desperately needed to be alone.

Gigi could only imagine how she looked to her friends as she avoided eye contact with them and raced down the hall to the master bedroom, shutting the door behind her as she ignored someone calling her name in an attempt to ask if she was okay. Bolting across the carpet in the empty room, she rushed into the master bathroom and shut the door, compelled to move as far away from everyone as possible and hide. She even went as far as to step into the large walk in shower and slide the glass doors closed, collapsing against the cool tile and sliding down to sit on the floor. Covering her mouth with both hands, she tried to stifle the cries which she had tried so hard to keep inside her for the last several days, but they wouldn’t be deterred any longer and she sobbed into her hands and her knees as she pulled them to her chest, trying to be as quiet as possible.

“Malyshka,” Mikhail was suddenly there, kneeling next to her in the shower for a moment, and finally sitting in front of her and pulling her onto his lap with one arm under her knees and one behind her back, as if she were light as a feather. Pulling her head into his neck, he quietly comforted her as she let her tumultuous emotions play out.

Misha knew his ballerina well, and as he expected, she didn’t wallow in her grief for long, quieting after only a few minutes. Pulling a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, he wiped at her tears, then held it under her nose so she could blow it. After wiping it for her, he tucked the cloth back in his jacket pocket as they both huffed a laugh at the situation and their comfort level with each other.

“You always did take such good care of me,” Gigi praised him with a smile when she finally calmed.

“I had to,” he confessed. “You were always so busy taking care of Yuri, and everyone else, you never took the time to take care of yourself.” He pulled back to look in her eye and brushed some hair off her forehead before he murmured with a wink, “Are you finished feeling sorry for yourself now?”

She nodded at him with a grin, knowing he was teasing her, and moved from his lap to stand up. They laughed once more, this time over sharing her awkward bathroom hiding spot.

“Thank you, Misha,” Gigi hugged her friend once more after they walked back into the master bedroom towards the french doors which also lead out onto the second story deck, on the opposite end from the kitchen sliders. She stopped to pull him into a tight hug, and then pulled back to kiss him on the cheek, grateful he was there to support her and save her in her time of need. He patted her cheek, and kissed her on the forehead, giving her one more hug before he pulled away.

“Well that didn’t take you long,” Natalia’s voice startled Gigi as it rebuked her from the other side of the french doors. Her mother in law and the woman’s best friend were staring at the two dancers from the deck, their disapproval of the pair’s close proximity and Mikhail’s show of affection evident on their faces. “Already found yourself another man to take care of you?”

Shaking his head with a growl of frustration, Mikhail started towards the door to go out and give the woman a piece of his mind, his anger evident on his face. Gigi stopped him with a gentle touch of her fingertips to his chest murmuring for only him to hear, “Don’t bother, Misha, I don’t pay attention to her ugly remarks, and you shouldn’t either. She’s not worth the aggravation.” She goaded her mother in law by throwing her arms around his shoulders and pulling him in for one more hug ignoring their audience. “Thank you again for being such a comfort to me today, and for being such a good friend to both Yuri and me over the years. He would be pleased you’re here today,” she confided. “And I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Gigi may have been provoking the woman on the other side of the glass, but her friend knew her words to him were genuine, and he smiled at her and nodded before planting one more kiss on her forehead. He couldn’t help but chuckle at her spunk in dealing with the woman who he knew had always been hard on her daughter in law. He had heard the stories from Yuri, who had always been disappointed his mother hadn’t tried harder to get along with the wife he adored. His ballerina was such a kind soul, he knew the woman’s words had made her angry, because Gigi’s dig at the woman was so unlike her.

__________________

After saying goodbye to Misha, who had to leave to catch a plane back to New York, Gigi stewed about Natalia’s remarks, her anger festering as she made her way back out into the kitchen after freshening herself up at the master bathroom sink.

She hid her upset, chatting with some friends from the NYCB while she picked up a few empty glasses which had been left on the island in the kitchen, and put them in the sink. Glancing out the window above the faucet as she worked, she looked out over the deck and down into the tent. Seeing the party was still in full swing, she shook her head with a smirk, steeling herself for another few hours of socializing, knowing she could push through it.

The sound of a doorbell suddenly filled the air, a sound she was hearing for the first time in her new home. Making her way to the front door, she opened it to find a man she recognized from Dale’s funeral standing outside, an annoyed look on his face. Realizing it must be her new neighbor, she started to muster a smile for him, but it quickly faded when he didn’t bother to greet her, but started complaining to her instead.

“Hey doll, I hate to interrupt your housewarming party, but the parking situation is getting out of control in front of my place. I almost clipped my front bumper on the idiot’s car who’s blocking my driveway.” He motioned to his shiny black Dodge Charger with a dramatic swing of his arm. The car was parked at the end of his drive, as if he was so put off by the near miss he had to jump out of his precious muscle car immediately and come over to complain to her about it. He was right the cars were parked bumper to bumper all the way down their winding road, but the foot of bumper in front of one side of his double driveway nowhere near qualified as blocking it.

Gigi stared the man for a moment, shocked at the way he was talking to her, and then stepped through the door to stand outside with him, pulling the front door to the frame in the hopes her guests inside wouldn’t overhear his complaints.

“And another thing,” he continued, ignoring her eyebrows, which had quickly raised into her hairline, “I spend a lot of time and effort making sure my yard looks nice, and I came home yesterday afternoon to find your huge fucking tent stakes tearing up my nicely manicured lawn! I planted that little tree, now under your huge ass tent, on the dividing line between our properties for this very reason. I _knew_ someone was going to move in here and fuck up my landscaping! And no doubt your million and a half party guests have mangled my expensive Japanese Maple tree!”

His melodramatic, indignant tone of voice would have been comical if he wasn’t making her more angry by the second with his attitude and his foul mouth. “Excuse me?” Gigi looked at him incredulously. She was absolutely appalled he would curse at her, when he didn’t even know her. _So disrespectful. What a jerk!_

Negan continued his rant, enjoying the shock on the features of the tiny woman in front of him. She had her arms crossed in front of her, one foot forward, toes pointing slightly outward towards him. _What’s with the pointy fucking toes?_ He had a good foot or more on her in height, at six foot two, so he leaned towards her, to see if she’d stand her ground or whether she’d cower under his glare. It was one of his favorite ways of sizing people up, of testing them, and this woman would be no exception. She was a pretty little thing, with her big brown eyes and full lips, and he was getting a kick out of watching the tension wash over her as he riled her up, even while he was fucking pissed at her fucking nuisance of a party. _While I’m thinking about it, if she was going to have a fucking house warming party, wouldn’t it be the right fucking thing to do to invite your new fucking neighbor?_ _Screw you, lady. I wouldn't have come to your sorry fucking party anyway._

“And while I have you,” he just couldn’t help himself but go on after she opened her mouth again to speak and nothing came out, he had her so flabbergasted. “Have you stopped at all to think about the fact you settled on this house three months ago, and you haven’t come around at all to cut your own grass? I got sick of looking at the fucking overgrowth, and have been cutting it myself, so I think some thanks are in order!”

 _He has got to be kidding,_ Gigi fumed. Everything which had happened over the last several days and the last few hours, along with her new neighbor’s list of mean spirited complaints finally pushed Gigi over the edge. She took two steps into the jerk’s space, trying to keep fresh tears from falling, and tilted her head back so she was looking up at his bearded chin, right into his nostrils. She mulled over the fact he smelled nice for all of two seconds, then she let loose on him. “Look ... pal, I’m really sorry if my husband’s _wake_ is an inconvenience for you,” she started in a surprisingly calm tone of voice.

Negan smirked at her as she started her tirade. _Pal? Am I supposed to be offended? That the best you’ve got lady?_ He wanted to laugh out loud at her not so nasty name calling, but settled on giving her a condescending smirk as she continued.

“I’m so _sorry_ I didn’t think to pay to have valet service for the day, what with arranging his funeral, a wake for a hundred and eighty two guests, and trying to figure out my entire _future without him!”_ She counted off her list of to do’s with her index finger on the fingers of her opposite hand, leaning into him to emphasize the last of her points. Her calm disappeared as her own words hit her. She would be spending the rest of her life without Yuri.

_Wake? Oh, fuck. Now all the people in black makes sense. I just thought it was some sort of fucking emo get together. I mean, Dale did say they were artsy. Don’t all those sorts of fucking freaks hang out together? It was an honest mistake, for fuck’s sake. Look at this one, cocking her head at me all pissy like. That shit just tickles my balls. Go, Tiny!_

Gigi continued her rant, the volume of her voice increasing dramatically as it went on. “And I’m so sorry you’ve been inconvenienced by having to help your new neighbor and her physically handicapped husband by mowing their lawn, what ... once a week, for the last few months?” Gigi choked on her words, her voice full of emotion.  “Feel free to send me a bill for your services!” Gigi felt absolutely hateful spewing her wrath at the man in front of her, but she couldn’t stop herself. Turning to storm away from him, she walked through the front door and turned back to look at him, slightly satisfied at the furrow between his eyebrows as he squinted at her, like she’d caught him off guard. “Oh, and by the way, if your precious Japanese Maple turns out to be damaged, feel free to send me a bill for that, too, because I wouldn’t want my husband’s _memorial_ to cause you any further torment or trouble.” Absolutely livid at his attitude and his complaints, as well as his stupid squinty eyes, she slammed the front door closed on him. Gigi leaned on the inside of the door, wide eyed, appalled at her own lack of self control in front of the man whom she hardly knew.

 _“Oh, you better believe I will, darlin’!_ ” she heard him call through the closed door. _Maybe I shouldn’t be so appalled at myself_ , Gigi fumed in response, growling in frustration as she walked back into the kitchen to pour herself her first glass of wine, of several. _Jerk!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts on this story so far? It is strange to write Negan in an AU setting, but as you can see, I am trying to stay true to the self absorbed jerk that we all know and love. 
> 
> In the next chapter, we'll meet Negan's spirit animal Merle, while Gigi settles in to her new home and new job.


	3. Ya Hear There's A New Cheerleading Coach?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “More than a mouthful’s a waste, I say!” Merle mumbled as he stared at the woman. He had pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, opened the camera app, and was using two fingers to zoom in on his subject at the end of the dock, since the binoculars he’d been using to look at her fine ass had been purloined. He may have even taken a few photos of it to add to his spank bank, because he was a man who loved him some ass.

At Mount Vernon High School, like every other high school in the United States, football tryouts and practice began in early August, so players would be chosen, drilled and ready for their first game right after school started. This year, Mount Vernon’s coach was hyped to get back into the swing of things. He’d spent the summer mourning his wife, and he needed a distraction from his loss. He'd assured Lucille before she died, he'd be fine when things settled after she passed, and he was wondering when the fuck things would feel settled. He’d had no fucking clue how much he would miss her, when they'd had the discussion. The widower had putzed around his house for the previous few months, doing some long overdue fixer upper projects, and spent the rest of his time missing his wife and feeling a little fucking sorry for himself, because he had every fucking right to do so. 

“You need to get back in the swing of things, man,” Merle prodded Negan during their homespun version of Friday happy hour. They could drink until they passed out, and didn’t have to worry about driving home from a bar afterwards because happy hour was at the football coach’s house, where anyone was welcome to crash on the couch or the floor, if needed. When Lucille was alive she’d insisted Negan’s friends not drink and drive, and had often awakened on a Saturday morning to find Merle, Simon, and sometimes one or two of the other Mount Vernon coaches passed out in her house or on her property. “Come on out ta the bars with me. You need to find yourself some pussy to help you forget your troubles.”

Negan took a swig of his beer as they sat on his deck looking out at the water, bullshitting about the start of tryouts on Monday. _Maybe it is time for a good piece of ass._ _Maybe that’ll snap me out of this funk._ He didn’t know, though, if the women who hung out at Merle’s favorite bar, The Kozy Keg, were what he’d be looking for in a one night stand. They all had high hair, which was a big no on Lucille’s wish list for him, and he wasn’t crazy about the feel of lacquer laden bleach blonde hair fisted in his grasp as a woman gave him a blow job. _Call me a fucking snob. Maybe I'm_ _not fucking ready for a new piece of ass. I still miss my old piece of ass._ _Jesus, man, you don’t have to marry them. Just get your ass laid, for fuck’s sake._ “Maybe,” he nodded, appeasing the man. “Let me get through the first week of tryouts.”

“Ya hear there’s a new cheerleading coach?” Merle asked him. “I’m waitin' to catch a glimpse of that action. Hopin’ she’s hot. Need some new ass to oggle while I’m workin’.”

“What'd you hear about her?” the football coach asked him. Merle was the go to for important information about any and all goings on at Mount Vernon. As groundskeeper, he always seemed to be in the right place at the right time, hiding in the shadows to overhear the most intimate conversations between, teachers, the administration or students. If the coach needed the scoop on something, Merle Dixon was the man with the answers. He liked to think he was stealthy like a CIA agent or a spy. Negan had informed him he was just fucking nosy. “I heard Jenna Daniels was five months along when school let out in June, so no doubt she’s not up for jumping her pregnant ass around on my football field now, with her cheerleaders,” Negan chuckled, then cringed at the thought. “That would be a fucking sight.” He had never liked the woman. They were always butting heads over who had first rights to his field for after school practice. _Cheerleading practice is a fucking pain in my ass._ Jenna had been fucking delusional, because football took priority over every fucking thing, in his mind. His team was always one of the top three in the state, which gave him the right to anything and everything he needed to keep them there. He didn’t give a shit if her squad usually ranked in the top twenty at nationals, because it didn’t mean dick compared to his football team’s rankings.

“The new coach is also teaching the dance classes, and Walking Fer Wellness. She’s friends with Carol Peletier,” Merle filled him in. “Got her buddy the job. Put a good word in with Grimes.”

“Carol? The Home Economics teacher who makes the pink cookies? She seems okay,” Negan hadn’t really talked to the mousey woman much since she’d started at the school two years before. She was a quiet, meek thing, definitely not the type of person he’d normally hang out with. He liked the awesome fucking butter cookies she was always handing out, though, even if they were pink.

“She’s fine, but her husband’s a dick. I don’t like him one lick. Total ass hat. I think he smacks her around,” his friend scowled as he got lost in concentrating on picking at the label of his beer for a few moments before he came back to the subject of the new cheerleading coach. “She said they used to dance together or some shit like that, back before she got knocked up and had ta get married.”

Ignoring Merle’s information about the two women’s history, the coach questioned, “How do you know he smacks her around?” Negan had no tolerance for men who abused women in any way shape or form, having grown up watching his father belittle his mother and push her around, physically. It was something he and the school’s groundskeeper had in common, something they never talked about after it had come up when they were shitfaced and pouring out their deepest darkest intoxicated secrets one night a few years before, over vodka shots at The Kozy Keg.

After seven shots, Merle had shared he and his brother Daryl, had been regularly beaten by their habitually drunken father when they were growing up. “Daryl got the worst of it though, since he was the baby,” Merle told him, pronouncing his brother’s name as if it rhymed with his own. “Once momma died, the fucker started kickin' at the other helpless puppy in the house, because I was taller’n him and he knew I'd fight back. I couldn’t stop him, hard as I tried.” Negan could hear the regret in the man’s voice as he rambled on. “When I’d try and get in the middle of one of Pop’s ragers, to take the focus off Daryl, he’d just go after 'im harder, and Daryl would pay the price. So I had ta stop tryin' to save him. Felt like shit, man, standing by and watching him take a beatin'. I’d just try to make sure he was okay when it was over.” Shaking his head he admitted, “It’s not surprisin’ we didn’t shed a single fuckin' tear when the asshole died a few years ago.”

Negan had stared at his buddy for several seconds before he lamented, “Jesus. I thought I had it bad watching my dad berate my mother all the time.” He was quiet for several seconds before he shared, “And beat me down, verbally.” He'd shaken off the importance of the effect his father had on him, offering, “But my dad sounds like a fucking saint compared to yours.” Downing his next shot of vodka, he'd looked around the bar, avoiding eye contact with Merle, feeling as if he was a fucking pussy for thinking his life growing up had been bad. He obviously didn’t know bad.

Poking a drunken finger into his drinking buddy’s arm to demand his attention, Merle had glared at his friend as he'd admonished, “No, man! It ain’t about how hard they hit ya. It’s about how they tear you down, up _here!_ ” He’d poked himself in the temple clumsily with the index finger of the hand holding his shot glass, making some of the liquid slosh out and run down the back of his hand. “It’s about how they make ya feel like your worthless ass deserves it. Like they’re doing the world a favor by keeping ya in line!”

Negan had only stared at him, nodding minutely because Merle was right. That was exactly how his father made him feel. The subject of their fathers never came up again, but it was from that point on the coach referred to Merle as his spirit animal, because “we just fucking understand each other’s obnoxious asses,” he’d enlightened an amused Lucille after he’d come home the night of their macho bar top epiphany. Merle was like the brother he’d never fucking had.

“Haven’t you watched her?” Merle answered Negan’s question about Carol’s husband with another question. “She looks like she’s afraid a her own damn shadow. If you get too close to her, she flinches. Just like my mom used to do. Just like Daryl _still_ does.”

 _Just like my mom used to do, too._ The rage Negan felt at the thought of the woman’s husband abusing her was hard to quell, and his friend could read it all over him. “May as well let it go, brother. There’s nothing you can do about it. She's the only one who can make the decision to leave.”

“He just better not cross my fucking path.” Negan threatened in response, the injustice eating at him.

Movement in the yard next door caught Negan’s eye, then Merle’s, and both men watched as the coach’s next door neighbor walked through the yard to the dock, a towel draped over her shoulder.

“What the hell's she wearing?” Merle murmured to his friend, reaching behind him to a set of shelves against the wall of the house to grab the pair of binoculars which were always perched there. He needed a better view of the mighty fine ass walking towards the water.  

“Take a good look my friend. You’ll get a fucking eye full!” Negan exuberantly whispered, even though she was far enough away he was unlikely to be overheard.

His initial contact with the woman the month before was more than a little fucking unpleasant thanks to her going the fuck off on him when she was in the wrong, wake or no wake, and it had left him with a strange sense of both anger and guilt when it was over. The guilt wasn’t something he’d experienced often, but he was sure it was probably because she turned on her fucking waterworks over nothing. He was maybe, almost a little bit sorry for how things went down, and was actually surprised he felt like he should try to make amends. So naturally he’d avoided her like the plague ever since. They could live side by side without ever talking again, couldn’t they?

The groan coming from the chair next to him snapped him out of his thoughts, and he turned to his lecherous friend and grabbed the binoculars from his hands. “Oh, yeah,” Negan murmured as he honed in on her. “She’s wearing my _favorite_ fucking swimwear today!” She had a couple of different get ups she wore for her daily swim at precisely five p.m. every day, but today’s ensemble gave him a hard on every time he saw her in it. _Fuck her._

She was wearing some kind of black swim trunks or bottoms, or whatever the fuck they were, which were cut like short-shorts. They were full coverage in the front, but barely covered her pretty little ass in the back, the spandex fabric detailing a fuck ton of her well defined glutes. Her short legs had the illusion of looking long and lean due to the sinew of the muscles in her thighs and calves, which also worked him the fuck up every time he saw them. She wore a colorful sports bra, tank top sort of thing, which was cut right off right below her her tiny little titties and looked like it would take a crowbar to get it off due to the thick spandex fabric digging into her skin below her boobs and around the armholes, meant to stay in place during a high intensity work out. The inches of abs between her top and bottoms were well toned, as were her arms. It all screamed athleticism, which seemed out of place considering her every movement was feminine and graceful, from her fingers to her toes. She even stood gracefully, shoulders back, neck seemingly extended, chin slightly raised, and she always automatically extended her right foot out a bit in front of her, pointed slightly outward. _What the fuck is that about?_ _Fuck her and her stupid pointed toes_ he thought, reminding himself he didn’t like her _._ He couldn't help but wonder how she’d injured her knee, which was always wrapped tightly in a flesh colored, elastic ace bandage when she swam each day, and whether the wrap was temporary or permanent since she’d been wearing it for over a month.

“More than a mouthful’s a waste, _I_ say!” Merle mumbled as he stared at the woman. He had pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, opened the camera app, and was using two fingers to zoom in on his subject at the end of the dock, since the binoculars he’d been using to look at her fine ass had been purloined. He may have even taken a few photos of it to add to his spank bank, because he was a man who loved him some ass.

As he looked through the binoculars, Negan’s hand reached blindly into the air next to him to high five his friend in response to his incredibly wise statement, because he, too, loved little titties. Each size had its advantages. Advantages he, Simon and Merle had discussed many times over beer. Tiny tits were his absolute fucking favorite, though. Always had been. He fucking loved the feeling of them dwarfed under his hand, or sucking one all the way into his mouth. You couldn't do that with big boobs.

“You think her nipples are tiny, too? Or you think she has some major areola going on ta balance out those tinies?” Merle continued mindlessly as he observed her, reaching over with his empty hand to smack his friend's palm.

Negan hummed in consideration of the question, turning his focus back to his neighbor as she bent over to drop her towel on the dock. Why the fuck he was so interested in her every movement when he didn't even like her, he'd never know, but his sorry ass had been coming out to sit on the deck or work in the yard every day at this time, ever since he'd figured out she swam every weekday, precisely at five. _It's because she has a premium, class A fucking body, you moron._

He and Merle both breathed out an “Oooh,” when she put her index fingers up into the bottom of the back of her trunks and pulled them lower on her cheeks as she stood back up, giving them a momentary glimpse of even more ass. “Fuck _me_ … I think I saw crack,” Negan's voice was full of wonder as he reported his sighting.

"I _know_ I saw ass crack!” the groundskeeper confirmed, grabbing his family jewels on the outside of his pants firmly and shaking them. “Down, boy!”

While the phys ed teacher could appreciate their athleticism, he’d never paid much attention to ballet dancers, since the pastime seemed to be full of girly men and uptight looking chicks who lived with their noses in the air. He just couldn’t see the fucking point. The few minutes of The Nutcracker he’d watched with Lucille one Christmas on television when they were in college had put him to sleep almost instantly. He’d never watched ballet again. Looking at the lithe, muscular woman on the dock, he nodded his head in appreciation of the serious fucking workouts it must take to maintain her physique. She was a fucking pint-sized powerhouse.

Damn, man! It’s a shame ya lost yer chance with that one when you barged in on her wake ta bitch about yer landscapin',” his friend teased, letting out a cackle.

“Fuck you, Merle,” Negan bit at him, watching, mesmerized as the lost chance in question dove off the dock and began the butterfly stroke, cutting a path through their inlet towards the mouth of the Potomac River, a half mile to the west.

“I don’t know. Now that I think about it,” Merle backtracked, “hot as she is, I don’t know if I wanna bump uglies with a woman who’s more muscular'n I am.” The magnitude of his dilemma was evident in his voice.

“I hear you,” Negan genuinely validated him. “But I’d definitely fuck her if she wasn’t such a goddamn pain in the ass, because that toned body is a fuck ton of hot.” He chuckled as Merle missed his lips with his bottle of beer, too caught up in watching the woman on his phone to aim properly, and had to try again.

“She can’t be all bad, amigo, if she paid ta have landscapers come out and fill in the divots created by her big ass party tent and have them brace yer sorry ass maple tree after her people mangled it.” He gestured to the tree with his beer bottle. The thing had more than slightly resembled Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree, even before the party next door had mangled one of the main branches.

“It was the least she could fucking do,” the coach insisted, focusing his binoculars with the ring in the middle, trying to get a better look at his neighbor's ass in motion as it came up out of the water with each stroke.

“And was it the least she could do ta have her kid mow your grass, along with hers every week for the rest of the summer because you complained about taking care of hers fer a few months?” the redneck admonished, shaking his head as he clicked his tongue in feigned disappointment.  “Poor, hot little piece just lost her cripple of a husband and she’s still makin’ sure she pays you back 'cause you bitched at her about havin’ ta mow her grass a few times.”

“You are so fucking crass, you goddamn asshole. He was physically handicapped! Drag your ass into the new fucking millenium.”

“Whatever, man. Don’t try and change the subject. It just strikes ‘ol Merle she ain’t as bad as ya make her out to be. I think she caught the almighty Coach Negan off guard when she refused ta take yer shit from ya and then turned around and put ya in yer place,” the man drawled with a grin.

"Fuck you, Merle.”

___________

As Gigi swam freestyle back towards the dock at minute twenty eight of her workout, she thanked her lucky stars for her friend Dale’s generosity. She loved the water, and found the sound of it, and her daily swims in it very calming. With her knee injury, swimming was the best high intensity, low impact way for to burn calories and maintain muscle, since the injury prevented her from dancing enough to keep in shape.

She frowned at the thought as she climbed the ladder onto the dock behind her house at exactly thirty minutes after she dove off the dock to start. Running her hands from her forehead, over the top of her head and down, she pushed excess water out of her shoulder length hair before she twisted her waves and curls with her hands to further ring it out before she put her towel over her shoulders and turned to walk up the yard.

Gigi tried not to be obvious as she glanced at the house to the right of hers, to see if her cranky neighbor was sitting on his deck or out in his yard, as he was just about every day at this time. As always he was outside, sitting at the patio table on his deck, drinking a beer, while a man she hadn’t seen before leaned on the railing closest to her yard, watching her walk towards her house. She groaned inwardly when her furtive glance wasn’t as furtive as she’d thought, and the man at the railing caught her eye and smiled at her, raising his beer bottle in greeting.

“Hey, neighbor! How’s the water?” he called to her. Gigi kept her eyes on his as her actual neighbor picked up a pair of binoculars from the table next to him and looked out over the water, seemingly disinterested in his friend’s conversation with her.

She smiled back at the man at the railing, answering, “Feels amazing! So warm. Current’s a little rough today, though!”

“I’m surprised that water doesn’t just part right down the middle for your heavenly body, darlin’.”

Gigi couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the man’s over the top compliment, shaking her head at him as she climbed the steps up to her second story deck.

He joined in with her laughter, knowing he was laying it on thick, and introduced himself, “I’m Merle. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

What a charmer, this one was. He seemed harmless enough, though, and she didn't want to seem unfriendly, even if his friend was a jerk. “Gigi!” she called back to him as she slid aside the screen door, then pushed open one of the french doors leading into her bedroom. She waved goodbye to the man before she stepped inside calling, “It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

“Oh, no, Gigi,” he returned, over enunciating her genteel French name as she smiled back at him, “the pleasure is _all_ mine!” Merle could hear her soft laughter floating on the breeze as she disappeared. Turning to Negan, he declared, “She definitely wants me.”

__________

**Have You Always Wanted To Be A Cheerleader,**

**But Were Afraid To Try Out?**

Male, Female, Freshman through Senior classes, tons of experience or none at all - **Everyone** is welcome!

If you are interested, the new coach wants to see you on Friday, August 7th at 9:00 a.m. for tryouts. Bring your comfy clothes and tennis shoes and be ready to strut your stuff!

Varsity and Junior Varsity squad positions, as well as Captain and Co Captain positions need to be filled!

The try out routine is now posted on Mt Vernon’s website - Please come prepared to perform the routine         _IN FULL_.

 

“She has _got_ to be kidding!” Penny Blake screeched at her friend Frankie via FaceTime as she read the flyer she had received in the mail. “Look!” She turned the paper and held it in front of her phone screen so Frankie could see it.

 _“What?”_ Frankie shrieked in return, her nose to the phone to read the ridiculous flyer. “The bitch _obviously_ doesn’t know how things work at Mount Vernon!”

“She has to have heard I’ve been captain of the cheerleading squad for the last two years!” Penny fumed. “She can’t just open up the position for someone else!”

“What about me?” Frankie countered. “What about my co captain position? She can’t just give that away, too!”

“If she thinks she can get away with this, she’s kidding herself. Who does she think she _is_?” Penny ignored Frankie’s question, because her best friend’s position of co-captain was nowhere near as important as her own position as captain.

“Right! Who the hell does she think she is?” the other girl repeated, validating her.

____________

“Kid’s got a good arm,” Merle observed as he watched a group of boys tossing a football back and forth on the lawn. They had barreled out of the house next door in their bathing suits soon after his new friend Gigi had disappeared inside, shoving each other off the dock into the water and swimming for a while before they spread out on the grass and started seriously throwing a football to each other.

“Who?” Negan inquired over his shoulder as he turned some steaks on the grill behind his friend.

“Kid with the dark hair and the blue tee shirt.”

The coach turned around, curious as to who and what his friend was talking about. He joined Merle at the railing, handing the man another beer to replace his almost empty one, watching the teenagers tossing the football. He immediately honed in on two of the five boys who could actually throw the ball. One of the two, the boy Merle pointed out, lived next door, the other he hadn’t seen before. His neighbor tossed the ball, with a damn good spiral, and the two men watched as one of the other boys called instructions to him before tossing the ball back for him to try again.

“Put a little more air between your palm and the ball!” Negan called out to him, holding up his hand to demonstrate, “And keep your free arm closer to your body as you throw!”

Marshall looked up at him, cocking his head to one side, not sure if he should pay attention to the guy next door who had his made his Aunt Gigi cry. She had warned him and Hannah to make sure they stayed on their own side of the dock and yard so they wouldn’t make him mad, telling them the man was really mean. His first instinct was to tell the man to fuck off.

“You giving me the stink eye, kid?” Negan was brought up in a household where you were taught to always respect your elders, and speak when you were spoken to. He had no patience for a teenager with an attitude. “You gonna just stand there and look at me, or do you want to learn how to throw the fucking ball?” Without looking at Merle beside him, he handed him the grilling tongs and walked down the deck’s steps toward the group. He almost laughed out loud when the kid started to bristle, waiting for a fight, not sure what to make of the situation.

Walking right into the teen’s space, smirking at him the entire time, Negan reached out and popped the football out of the boys hand with his fingertips, and into his own. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Marshall,” Gigi’s nephew really didn’t know what to make of his neighbor, so simply looked at him wide eyed. 

“Marshall, you have to put more space between your palm and the ball,” Negan started to reiterate the instructions he’d called out from above, demonstrating how to hold the ball with his fingertips. “One or two of your fingers should be on the laces, your index finger about here.” He tapped the ball with his own index finger to show the boy the correct placement, then tossed the ball back to him.

What the man was telling him made sense, so Marshall let his guard down and shifted the ball to his right hand. Nervous with the man watching him, the teen positioned the ball as he’d been shown. “Like this?”

“Exactly,” Negan praised with a smile. “Now, when you throw the ball, keep your left arm closer to your body. Otherwise, you end up tossing more from the side, and the ball will stay low.” Taking the ball back, he demonstrated the difference between positioning his left arm close to his side, explaining the ball would fly higher and further if he pulled his arm into his body. “Go ahead, try it,” he ordered, giving him the ball.

Marshall glanced at him warily, positioned the ball in his hand as he’d been shown and then threw it to one of his friends across the yard, making sure to position his free arm correctly and follow through the way the man had shown him. The ball flew threw the air with a beautiful spiral.

When it had flown halfway across the yard, the coach yelled, “Go long!” to the frizzy haired kid across the yard, who was on the receiving end of the toss, because the ball was going to go right over his head if he didn’t. The whole group laughed when he was so intent on the ball, he fell over a bush as he leapt to catch it. An arm holding the football popped up from behind the bush, as a muffled voice yelled, “Caught it!”

“Beautiful fucking throw, man!” Negan turned to Marshall, grabbing him by the shoulder and shaking him roughly in celebration. “What’s the loser’s name?” he joked, jerking his chin across the yard at the teen dragging himself out from behind the bush.

“Julian,” Marshall replied, laughing.

“Julian! Get your sorry ass back into position and throw me the fucking ball!” Negan smiled as all of the boys cracked up at his order. “Show me what I just taught Marshall!”

__________

Freshly showered, Gigi made her way from the front door to the kitchen table balancing the four extra large pizza boxes with her salad in a plastic container on top in one hand, while she carried the bag with three big bottles of soda in her other hand. She decided to take the food for Marshall and his friends out to the table on the deck, so they could eat outside. They didn’t seem to care the August humidity was stifling. Juggling dinner, she managed to push open the sliding doors to the left of the kitchen with her elbow and make her way onto the deck, smiling at the sound of the boys laughing and hollering to each other in the backyard.

“What the fuck, Dylan! Get your damned ass in gear! Block Merle, so he doesn’t catch my fucking ass!” she frowned at the sound of the familiar voice spewing obscenities, then more peals of laughter from the group below.

“Yeah, what the fuck Dylan! Get your damned ass in gear!” She recognized the sound of Marshall’s friend Matt parroting the order, the group laughing again in response.

Not able to see the kids from her position on the second floor deck, she moved to the railing to see what was going on. She took in the scene, quickly discerning there was a touch football game going on. Her neighbor and his friend Merle, were split onto different teams, Marshall and two of his friends playing with her neighbor, and her new friend Merle playing with three of Marshall’s other friends. Marshall had the ball in hand as two of his teammates blocked the opposition, while her neighbor sprinted from her yard to the far side of his own at an impressive pace, Julian trying unsuccessfully to catch him. The man suddenly turned back to face the other players, his eyes searching for Marshall in the fray. Her nephew threw the football right to him from his spot in her yard, and the receiver reached his long arms forward in front of him, to catch it as it rocketed towards him, pulling it into his stomach. He let out a victorious yell as he jumped up and down enthusiastically in their makeshift end zone, slamming the football into the ground. Marshall, Dylan and Matt danced a victory dance in celebration, arms in the air, while Merle and his three teammates booed. All of the players were covered in perspiration despite the boys playing in their swimsuits, the two men lifting up the hem of their shirts to wipe their faces and necks.  

Spotting their audience of one up on the deck, Marshall called out, “Hey, Aunt Gigi! We won!”

“I saw!” she smiled at him, glad he was having a good time. Hard as it had been, the three of them had managed to step off their proverbial rollercoaster in the last month and were putting a tentative foot back on solid ground. Her neighbor’s eyes followed Marshall’s gaze, and it was obvious he was caught off guard at her sudden appearance. She smirked at his surprised look before she added, “Pizza’s here!” to the boys.

Another cheer went up from Marshall and his friends while her nephew ran over to the other yard to talk to their neighbor, “Hey coach, you guys want some pizza?”

 _Oh, no. No, no, no!_ Gigi definitely didn’t want to eat with the jerk. She tried not to look outwardly panicked. If she moved fast enough, she probably could grab her salad from on top of the pile of pizza boxes and head back inside to eat. _I can eat in my room … or the shower._

“No thanks, kid,” she heard her neighbor decline. “I have a couple of cold steaks and a Budweiser calling my name.”

Groans of discontent went up from the teenagers before they headed to the stairs of the deck, some of them stopping to shake Merle’s hand or low five him where he stood by the maple tree, the others waving goodbye to him and the man next door. As his friends walked away, Marshall offered a quiet, “Thanks for the tips, sir,” to his neighbor, “It was great playing ball again. It’s been awhile.” He’d mentioned to the coach he’d played on a local league before he’d moved away from his old neighborhood.

“Am I going to see you at tryouts on Monday, Marshall?” the man asked him softly, remembering the boy’s hesitation when he’d told him he should try out for Mount Vernon’s football team. “I know if you work hard for hell week, you can make my fucking team.” The kid had an amazing arm and moved like fucking lightning. The coach looked towards the deck as he spoke, amused that Aunt Gigi was eyeballing their interaction.

“You really think so?” the boy questioned, keeping his voice low. He didn’t want his friends to know he was considering going out for the football team at his new high school. It had been a couple of years since he’d played on a team, and if he didn’t make the cut, he didn’t want to have to endure their endless digs. The thought of playing football again really appealed to him, because he loved the game. It would also be an easy way for him to make friends at his new school. Dylan, Julian and the rest of the guys who’d come over to hang out lived in his old neighborhood, and went to West Potomac High, where he also would have gone if they hadn’t moved. His new home with his aunt was in the Mount Vernon school district, so Marshall would be going into his junior year at a new school, not knowing a soul. It wouldn’t hurt to be friendly with the coach, either.

“I don’t fucking doubt it in the least. You’re pretty fucking good, kid,” the coach encouraged him. “Now go eat your pizza so I can go get a fucking beer.” He turned the boy by the shoulders and shoved him in the direction of the house next door, Merle joining him to head back up to eat their dinner as Marshall waved goodbye over his shoulder.

“What’s the rule while you’re here, boys?” Negan heard Gigi quiz the teens as he made his way up the stairs to the second story.

“No cursing in the house!” a chorus of teenage voices rose in the air in unison, reciting an obviously familiar mantra.

“But we weren’t in the house, Aunt Gigi!” Marshall argued amiably in defense of the group.

“But I could hear you, couldn’t I? I would hope you boys would show me a little more respect.”

 _She’s his aunt, not his mom._ He’d taken notice of the fact when Marshall had announced their victory to her. He wondered where the boy’s parents were; why he was living with his aunt. Negan could hear the woman’s tone was light, but her message was firm, and the coach rolled his eyes as the boys murmured their apologies. _She has got to be fucking kidding._ He was certain her lesson in manners was a dig aimed at him, and he smirked as he turned the grill back on low to heat up their half cooked dinner. _Fuck her. I don’t have to respect dick_.

The boys didn’t seem to be put off by her bitchfest, and they laughed and talked with her and the girl who had to be Marshall’s sister, or the aunt’s daughter, since she lived at their house as well and looked just like them. The coach actively ignored them while he and Merle bullshitted about this and that, eating their dinner, which they washed down with a few more beers.

_________

“No! _No!_ Matt! Don’t do it!” Gigi squealed as she watched Matt shake up one of the bottles of soda sitting on the table in front of him, pointing the opening at the top of the neck at her, his thumb the only thing keeping her from getting soaked with sugary liquid. Getting up from the table, he rounded the table to her side. “Come on, Matt!” She jumped up from her seat as he approached her, and she tried to circumvent him by running around the opposite side of the table.

“Take it back!” Matt insisted, running around the table after her.

“Nope!” she refused as she tried to dodge him. “The Baltimore Ravens are better, and you know it! Everyone knows it!”

“Traitor!” Matt teased her with a laugh as she ran down the stairs towards the lawn to get away from him. “It’s the Redskins all the way! Our home team rules!” Northern Virginia considered the Redskins their team, even though the team played in Washington DC.

The rest of the kids got up from their seats to watch as Matt chased Gigi around the yard, the soda in his hand starting to bubble out around his thumb on the lip of the neck, because he’d shaken it so much. He loosened up his thumb a bit as he moved, allowing some of the sticky liquid to fly, and laughed like a hyena when Marshall’s aunt squealed as it hit her in the back of her head and shoulders.

“Take it back!” he repeated as he let another stream of fluid loose, aimed at her back.

“What the fuck?” Negan questioned out loud in response to the girly ass screaming going on in the backyard, as he stepped out onto the deck from inside, after putting some dishes in the kitchen sink.

“They’re like Schwarzenegger and Devito,” Merle chuckled as the coach joined him at the railing, referring to the six foot, two hundred and fifty pound boy, chasing the pixie along the beach, his laughter making it obvious there was no malice in his actions.

As she approached the dividing line between the yards, Marshall closed in on her from the other direction, shaking a second opened two liter bottle and pointing it in her direction. “Come on, Aunt Gigi! Pledge your allegiance to the home team!” he insisted.

Realizing she was going to get soaked by one or the other of the boys, Gigi leapt onto the dock and ran to the far end. The boys chased her, letting streams of the soda loose from their bottles, but they weren’t close enough for it to reach her. At the end of the pier, out of places to run, she turned suddenly to face them, putting her hands up, as if to surrender.

Negan and Merle couldn’t hear what she was saying, but she was obviously pleading for them not to soak her. Exaggerated contrition was written on her face as she stepped towards Matt, and reached out in front of her, offering to shake his hand in capitulation. Transferring the half empty bottle of soda to his other hand, the boy reached out to shake Gigi’s hand as Marshall backed up from the scene, shaking his head with a laugh. The two men watched his response curiously.

The second the woman had Matt’s hand firmly in her own, her arm shot upward, wrenching his wrist to bend it just enough to startle and incapacitate him. Stepping into him, she brought her other hand to the back of his bicep, shoving the top of it forcefully to turn him away from her. The move also pushed the boy away from her, and she followed up by gracefully kicking the heel of one foot out into the boy’s rear end, knocking him off the side of the dock and into the water.

She immediately jumped up and down, dancing around the dock as she shouted out a, “Wooo hooo!” in victory. Her excitement was short lived, as Marshall was suddenly in front of her, his almost full bottle of soda pointed at her face. “Noooo!” Gigi shouted, suddenly leaping at her nephew as a caramel surge of soda  started to fly in her direction. She flew into him, wrapping her arms around his torso, smooshing the bottle of soda between them, the force of the impact pushing him backwards so they both fell off the pier, laughing as they hit the water.

“Damn, she took Schwarzenegger down!” Merle commented. “Best make sure you don’t screw with her, amigo. She might kick your ass.”

“No fucking kidding,” Negan responded, watching the melee in the water. She was a fucking piece of work, but the kids obviously liked her, the rest of the friends and the girl running onto the dock, jumping into the water to join the fun. Within minutes, Gigi was on Matt's shoulders, howling with laughter as she struggled in a chicken fight with the teenage girl on Dylan's shoulders.

He nodded to himself, once again impressed as he thought about the power in her hundred pound body. _Definitely fucking hot. But she’s still a bitch._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm. I wonder who the new cheerleading coach is?


	4. Get Your Feet Wet, Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from watching her if he tried. It wasn’t about the dancing. He could give a flying fuck about the dancing. It was how she was dancing. She was like a train wreck happening right before his eyes. An angry fucking train wreck.

“You gotta fucking save me,” Negan murmured to Merle as he walked up to the bar to get another drink, looking for a reprieve from the annoying woman who wouldn't leave him alone. His drinking buddy was ordering himself another beer, and asked what the coach wanted as he approached.  Scotch was Negan's drink of choice for the evening, because he knew he’d need a serious buzz to ensure the whole scene at the Kozy Keg wouldn’t get on his last fucking nerve. The booze was working for the most part, but even the top rail brand he was knocking back couldn’t dull the effect of the grating and incessant chatter of Bambi, who had fixated on him a half hour before and wouldn’t get the fuck out of his face. He’d even informed her, three minutes into her rambling, he just wanted to be left the fuck alone.

“You don’t mean that!” she’d giggled, wrapping her hand around his bicep and anchoring herself at his side. “No one wants to be alone!” Despite Negan prying her fingers from his arm and walking away from her several times, she continued to follow him around, talking non stop.

It might be worth listening to her mind numbing drivel if he was interested in a piece of her, but she had the brains of a goddamn brick. As a rule, Negan didn’t do stupid.

He didn't know why the fuck he'd agreed to come to the bar with his friend. Tuesday night was ladies night, and Merle had decided it would be the perfect night for the widower to get out and mingle. “Get your feet wet, man,” Merle had prodded him when they’d walked through the door of the place a half an hour before. “You don’t have to fuck ‘em. Just talk. Get out on the dance floor. Maybe rub yer dick up on ‘em a little.”

“I don’t fucking dance,” Negan had reminded him, “and you know Lucille only passed away two fucking months ago, right Merle?”

“Yep. And it's time ta move on. You know I loved yer better half even more than I love you, sweetheart,”  his friend had needled him, “but she even gave you a shopping list fer yer next piece a ass. That’s the same as giving you the green light to move on asap, amigo.” He’d pronounced the acronym as a word instead of spelling out each letter.

“You are such a fucking ass.”

“So I’ve been told,” his friend had agreed, his eyes scouting for prospects for himself around the room as they’d made their way to the bar.

“Hey there, Merle!” a leggy blonde with a nose ring and tats covering her arms and neck had greeted him as he made his way through the crowd. She was obviously excited to see him, and had bee lined her way through the crowd to kiss him on the cheek.

“Hey darlin’!” he’d greeted her as he passed by, lightly caressing her stomach with his fingertips, where it was peeking out between her cropped _Fuck Off and Die_ tee shirt and her tight ass skinny jeans. “You an' me later?” She’d nodded enthusiastically, looking over her shoulder at him wistfully as he continued to make his way through the crowd.

“Hey, baby girl,” Merle had greeted the next woman who’d put herself in the middle of his path to try to get his attention. He called them all “honey” or “darlin’” or one of many other general terms of endearment because he couldn’t remember their names the morning after he’d slept with them. If he was honest with himself, he probably never had asked any of them, because he didn’t give a shit. He stepped into her, stopping two inches short of her lips. Sharing her breath, he’d propositioned her in his slow Georgia drawl, “You gonna show me that pretty pussy later?”

“Yes, daddy,” the raven haired, rubenesque young woman had answered him breathily, visibly trembling with excitement at the prospect, obviously overwhelmed by the man’s physical presence.  

“Good girl.” Merle had smacked her on the ass as they’d moved around her to pass by. “She’s twenty one and a half!” He called over his shoulder to Negan as he moved, so he’d be heard over the loud country music filling the room. He was damn proud of the fact she was more than half his age. It made his dick twitch just thinking about her nubile thighs straddling his face.

The coach had marveled at how the man stopped to greet six women, getting up close and personal with each one, putting his hands or lips somewhere on them and whispering sweet nothings, Negan knew, or sexy somethings to them before he moved on, vowing they were the one he wanted to be with at the end of the night. He knew this because Merle had explained his tactics to his friend as they drove the bar, in great detail, because he felt the widower needed some pointers on how to get laid. As the man had explained it to him, playing his touchy feely greeting game when he walked into the bar gave him the opportunity to look for new prospects over the course of the evening, and if he didn’t find some fresh meat, he could take his pick of the best of the women he’d fucked before. Once he’d gotten into their panties, if they mistakenly believed they had rights to his time at the Kozy Keg, he would inform them, in no uncertain terms, if they wanted a piece of his ass later they needed to be patient, and get out of his face because he needed some me time before he gifted them the “all about you” time which had made their head spin with satisfaction in the past.

Negan had been a player before he’d started dating Lucille, but he’d never juggled several women at once. He would either have a series of one night stands when he was avoiding commitment, or pick one super hot girl to fuck until he got tired of them, then move on to the next super hot girl just waiting to sleep with a member of the basketball team.

The coach didn’t even get the chance to step away from the bar with his newly poured scotch on the rocks before Bambi came looking for him, wrapping her hand around his bicep once more. _Fuck. Me._ “Hi, baby!” the woman suddenly started bouncing up and down at the sight of Merle when he turned around from the bar with a beer in one hand, and two shots in the palm of his other. She proceeded to look back and forth between Negan and his friend as if she were trying to choose between two luscious desserts at a buffet.

“You two know each other?” Negan raised an eyebrow at her.

“Oh, yeah. Bambi and I know each other real well, don’t we darlin’?” Merle looked the woman up and down, then gave his friend with a shit eating grin.

 _Thank fucking God, Merle doesn’t mind stupid!_ Negan took one of the shot glasses out of his friend’s hand and held it out for the woman, forcing her to remove her hand from his arm to take it, as he apologized, “Sorry, Bambi. I don’t do stupid _or_ sloppy seconds.”  Grabbing and tossing back the second shot in Merle's hand, he left the pair, heading to the nearest exit he spied on the back wall of the room. He really hadn’t planned on getting laid, but neither he or Merle had thought about the fact his buddy had fucked all the regulars who hung out at the Kozy Keg. He hit the metal push bar on the back door with force, wanting to get the hell out of the place.

“ _Hey!_ ” a female voice yelled out angrily as he stepped outside after swinging the door open with such force it almost slammed into the outside wall of the bar. The door came to an abrupt stop two feet from the wall, a hand with a cigarette between two fingers slinking out from behind it, wrapping around the edge and shoving it back towards him. “Why don’t you watch what the fuck you’re doing!” A pretty redhead appeared as the door swung closed. She was leaning against the wall next to the door frame, scowling at him.

“Why don’t you watch where the fuck you stand?” Negan countered calmly.

The woman continued to glower at him for five more seconds before she broke into a grin. “Touché,” she laughed, then took a drag of her cigarette as she moved three feet down the wall before relaxing against it once more.

He laughed with her, studying her in the light of the fixture which hung next to the exit door in the alley next to the bar. She was tall, and slim, her curves accentuated by her leggings and body hugging tee shirt. Her long, straight hair hung down the front of her shirt, almost covering her ample tits. He could see her dark eyes, heavy on the eyeliner and mascara, staring at him, inviting him to say something more.

“You know a guy named Merle?” He wanted to be sure his buddy had never dipped into this possibility before he wasted another second with her.

“No,” she responded, curiously. “Should I?”

“No.” He shook his head, dismissing her question a wave of his hand. “You have another?” he asked pointing at her cigarette.

Reaching into the purse that hung by her hip, she kept her eyes on his as she felt for her pack, pulling it out and jerking her wrist slightly so a few of the cigarettes popped up, leaving an inch sticking out of the opening in the top. _She’s fucking sizing me up._ Negan took a few steps towards her to take one, but as he reach out, she pulled the pack towards her slowly, so he’d have to move into her space to grab one.

“Heh.” He swiped his tongue between his teeth as he squinted at her, liking her beach ball sized lady nuts. He took his time looking her over, trying to decide whether he wanted to take her bait. If he did, it wouldn’t be on her fucking terms. It would be on his. _Why the fuck not? She’s practically offering her ass up on a silver platter._ He took two steps closer to her, stopping a foot in front of her.

Reaching down between them, Negan ran his fingertips softly down her forearm until they found the cigarettes sticking out of her pack. Putting one between his lips, he waited until she brought hers back up to her mouth and then took one more step, stopping so close he could feel her tits brush the front of his tee shirt. Splaying his fingers on either side of her face, he tilted her head up to him, cigarette still between her lips. He felt the woman's body initially tense, however once she realized what he was doing he could feel the tension disappear beneath his fingers. It pleased him immensely she stood absolutely still, despite her trepidation, as he moved the tip of his Marlboro to touch the end of hers and took a few drags, lighting it with the cherry.

Letting go of her and pulling his head back just far enough to look into her eyes, he used two fingers to pull her cigarette from her lips and flick it to the pavement beside them, blowing his smoke to the side as she started to protest, a breathy, “Hey …” hanging in the air between them.

“Open your mouth for me, sweetheart,” he ordered before taking another drag of his cigarette. His cock took notice when she didn’t hesitate to follow his order, trusting him completely even though she didn’t know him from Adam. Moving his lips a fraction of an inch from hers, he felt her tremble against his chest as he blew his smoke into her mouth, grinning when she sucked it in, breathing deeply to get as much of it as possible. _This’ll be a piece of fucking cake_.

___________

“That was fucking awesome, doll,” Negan lied as he looked down at the redhead, stuffing his dick back in his underwear and zipping up his pants. He’d fingered the woman to an orgasm, and then come in her mouth as she knelt on the ground in front of him, between his Charger and the truck parked next to it in the back of the parking lot behind the bar. “You’re probably going to want to get back inside before this fucking rain starts coming down,” he dismissed her, looking up at the sky. The wind had kicked up while they were fooling around, thunder rumbling in the air around them. He offered her his hand to help her back to her feet.

He had the decency to help her right her clothes, trying not to act as rushed as he felt while he pulled her shirt back down over her chest after she hooked her bra behind her back. The thing had never made it off her shoulders. He’d simply mouthed his way around it, shoving it up to her collarbone as he’d gotten her off, hoping the studs on her belt weren't scratching his fucking paint job, when he heard them clack against the finish of the passenger side door as he sucked on one of her nipples.

The truth was, he couldn’t wait to get the fuck away from her. It started to drizzle as they worked to get their clothes back in place, and she kept side eyeing him as she pulled her leggings back up from around her knees hurriedly hoping, Negan was sure, he’d ask her to have a drink with him inside, or at least for her phone number. He wasn't going to insult her by pretending to be interested in anything other than the blow job she’d just given him.

Rain started to fall, the perfect excuse for saying a hasty goodbye. Kissing the young woman on the corner of her her mouth because he didn’t want to touch her lips again with his, he whispered, “Thanks, doll. This was fun,” and walked around to the driver’s side of his car, hitting the button on the key fob to open his door. He got in quickly and hit the button on the armrest to lock the doors, just in case she got the crazy fucking idea to jump in with him.

The sound of his doors locking and car starting were what finally spurred the woman to realize her time with him was over. Since Negan had backed into his spot, he could see her through the windshield as she turned and ran two rows over, lightning suddenly brightening the sky and her form as she skittered away. She hopped into a compact car, pulling out of her parking spot and driving away only a few seconds after her door slammed shut. Three more bolts of lightning came down in rapid succession in front of Negan's eyes, the final bolt low in the sky, its branches seemingly reaching for the Kozy Keg before they retracted. Negan smirked as he thought of his wife’s words their last morning together, about striking down any woman who wasn’t right for him. _All right Lucille. No more ass shopping at the Keg._

Pulling his phone out of his front pocket, he sent a text to Merle.

 

**10:13 PM**

_Take a fucking Uber home._

 

**10:15 PM     Merle**

_Where the hell are you?_

 

**10:15 PM     Merle**

_You find yourself some_

_pussy?_

 

**10:16 PM**

_No. Just not in the mood_

_for the bar scene._

 

**10:18 PM     Merle**

_Man, you gotta get your_

_feet wet sometime. Or_

_should I say, you gotta_

_get your dick wet_

_sometime. LMAO._

 

**10:19**

_Fuck off._

 

Negan dropped the phone on the seat next to him, put his car in gear and pulled out of the Kozy Keg’s parking lot, shaking his head at his disaster of a night. He was agitated at the fact he’d had a perfectly cute, albeit a little hard around the edges, woman suck his dick, out in the open no less, and it was all he could do to enjoy it. He’d known he’d made a mistake the minute he kissed her. She’d smelled and tasted like a bar, cigarettes and stale vodka, which was a major fucking turn off for him. Call him a goddamn hypocrite. Once they'd started fucking around, he quickly realized he just wanted come quickly and get away from her, but his lack of interest was going to make for one long ass blow job. He’d finally resorted to pulling up images of his favorite porn scenes and past sexual exploits in his head, surprising himself when the image of his neighbor, Gigi, with her short fucking swim trunks and muscular legs popped into his mind, finally fueling his fucking fire. In his head he was eye level with her ass, kneeling behind her on the dock, his fingers sliding up into the fabric covering each of her cheeks, pushing it up so his lips could make contact with her silky skin, biting and sucking it as he moved towards her cleft. He pictured himself hooking his index finger around the fabric between her thighs to pull it out of his way and snaking his tongue between her cheeks. The second he licked the pucker of her ass in his imagined porn scenario, he blew his load into the redhead's mouth.

 _Fuck_.

Pulling into his garage twelve minutes later, he turned off his engine and headed into the house. Relying on the night lights in the kitchen and family room right next to it, he kicked off his shoes and made his way to his liquor cabinet in the dining room to grab his bottle of Johnny Walker Red and a highball glass, taking them back to the kitchen. Washing his hands vigorously to get the scent of the redhead off them, he walked to the freezer to get ice, annoyed by the noise of the motorized chute on the door and the clank of the ice into the glass.

Moving back to the kitchen counter where he'd left his bottle by the sink, he poured himself a double, immediately knocking back half of it as he looked out the window over the faucet at the moonlight reflected on the water. _I could use a good bender. It’s been at least a week since I wallowed in a bottle of scotch and a healthy fucking dose of self pity._ He squinted when he saw movement on the dock, a pint-sized figure moving back and forth in the moonlight. _Marshall’s sister, maybe? Too short to be the boy_. The person was briefly illuminated as it passed by the dim light solar lamps he’d attached to the top of the two pillars on either end and in the middle of the part of the dock which ran parallel to the shore. Reaching over to the outlet next to the sink, he unplugged the night light shining in his eyes, knowing he would be able to see better in total darkness.

The figure moved from one end of the dock to the other, gracefully leaping and twirling. _What the fuck?_ He watched out of curiosity for several seconds before he realized it was Gigi, dancing in the darkness. The rain had stopped, but there was a mist falling, and he could see her heavy breath forcing its way through the hazy air in the light of the solar fixtures. He could just make her out, standing on the tip of long fucking toes, taking tiny steps to move right, then left. S _he must have those shoes with the hard thing in the end,_ _so_ _she can stand on the tip of her toes._

In the blink of an eye her graceful movements were gone, and she jumped and twirled furiously, pounding across the dock with some serious fucking attitude, dancing nothing like she had seconds before, and nothing like the ballet dancers he’d seen in snippets on tv shows or in movies.

Curious as to what music was evoking her frenzied movements, Negan picked up his bottle of scotch and his glass and moved to the sliding doors in the family room to his left. He quietly slid open one of the glass doors, and stepped outside. Hidden by the dark, he was enveloped by the hot, humid, misty August air which had become stifling once the rain had passed through the area. Leaning on the railing of the deck, he watched Gigi move, absolutely fucking fascinated. He heard no melody, and judging by her skimpy spandex workout shorts and her tank top, she had no place to hide a cell phone for a source of music. Maybe she had one sitting on one of the pillars of the dock, and was wearing a Bluetooth earpiece but he didn’t think so. Her frenetic movements would surely send it flying in a matter of minutes. She was dancing to the beat of her own fucking drummer, so to speak.

Her choreography calmed again, and she took her tiny tiptoe steps to one of the pillars on the side of the dock closest to him. She was facing him as she picked up a wine glass he hadn’t noticed before, and took several gulps of the liquid inside, tipping her head back to get the last drops in the bottom of the glass. Grabbing a wine bottle from the surface of the dock next to the pylon, she started to pour herself more, raising the bottle in front of her after only a few seconds and shaking it, as if she needed to be sure it was really empty. She swayed a bit as she bent over to put the bottle down, clumsily catching it when it tipped over as she placed it on the flat surface. Once she righted it, she put up her index finger, gesturing for the inanimate object to stay still before she danced off again.

 _She’s drunk. Nice!_ The slightly inebriated man on the deck smirked to himself. _Drinking alone? Not a good move, doll._ Negan tipped back his highball and finished off the second half of his drink, then twisted the lid off his bottle and poured himself another double, all while keeping his eyes on his neighbor. She had started to move again, letting out a loud grunt as she took off across the dock once more, twirling most of the way. Pounding across the wood surface one minute, gliding the next. Back and forth she leapt and ran, crying out forlornly as she came to an abrupt stop at one end of the structure, then the other, sometimes leaning so far forward or backward on the edge, he was sure she was going to lose her balance and fall into the water, but then she would quickly twist her body around in a move he would have thought physically impossible and head in the other direction, emitting another quiet, almost feral sound.  Her hair was hanging loose, flying around and above and behind her as she moved, adding to the chaotic look of her dance.

He wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from watching her if he tried. It wasn’t about the dancing. He could give a flying fuck about the dancing. It was _how_ she was dancing.  She was like a train wreck happening right before his eyes. An angry fucking train wreck. _She’s fucking pissed! That’s what all the fucking frenzy is about._ It was as if she was unknowingly telling her audience of one how she was feeling, without using any words. Serene, graceful tiny steps and moves and _what the fuck do you call them … pirouettes, that’s the fucking word,_ would morph into fevered twirling, and bizarre moves, her body jerking and twisting all over the fucking place. Then there would be another shift in mood and the dance would suddenly become more focused as she grunted and stomped, moving with precise, rigid motions, anger radiating off her with every step. After a time she calmed once more, swaying for several beats before she went back to dancing graceful steps on her tiptoes, leg extensions and elegant pirouettes. _Reeling her fucking emotions back in._

She finally stopped in front of her wine glass. Picking it up once more,  she raised the bottom of it to get what must have been a very little bit of wine out of it. Moving the glass in front of her, she studied it for a moment before suddenly smashing it onto the top of the pillar with the flat of her hand.

 _I did_ **_not_ ** _fucking see that coming!_ Negan heard Gigi gasp as the glass in her hand shattered on the wooden surface, a cry of pain immediately following, piercing the heavy night air. Rushing back into the house, he made his way to the bathroom to grab his first aid kit, and a towel. After gathering some things in the kitchen he rushed back out to the deck and down the steps, hurrying down the yard and onto the dock. When he didn't spot her right away, he momentarily thought she had walked back to her house, but finally spied her squatting behind one of the dock's piles, picking up pieces of glass. Her injured hand was raised several inches above her shoulder and to the side as she worked, stacking the shards on top of the pillar.

_____________

Hearing someone approaching, Gigi groaned to herself, mortified they might have seen her temper tantrum. She couldn’t be too hard on herself, though, because as stupid as it had been, slamming the vessel down had not only shattered it’s glass, but had also shattered what was left of her upset.

Since the kids had gone to the movies with friends for the evening, she knew there could only be one person walking towards her on the dock. He probably was coming to yell at her for scattering glass everywhere, because of course she had broken it on his side of the dock. She wouldn’t blame him, honestly.

Glancing up at the man as he turned to walk towards her on the top of the “T”, she noticed the plastic box and the towel he carried in one hand, and the flashlight and bottle of water he held between the fingers of the other. Squatting down in front of her, he sat his things on the wood surface of the dock. He turned on the flashlight, directing the beam onto her raised arm. His tone was gentle when he finally spoke, murmuring, “Boy, you really did a number on yourself, tiny dancer.”

Gigi's mortification was now official. He’d not only seen her tantrum, but  he'd been watching her long enough to see her crazed performance. The performance which had felt so good.

Turning to look at the damage she’d done to herself, Gigi was shocked at the amount of blood running down her arm and dripping off her elbow. She could only nod at him, light-headed from the wine she’d drunk and the sight of her own blood.

“Sit,” Negan ordered, seeing the upset on her face as she looked at her wounds. “Over here.” He lightly patted the outside of her thigh with his fingers, gently nudging her towards a spot free of glass, just a few feet away. He illuminated the surface with his flashlight until she was settled. “Hold this for me,” he ordered amiably, putting the flashlight in her uninjured hand and moving it until the beam lit the area between them. She followed every command without hesitation, despite the fact he’d been a total shit to her the first day he’d met her.

He positioned himself next to her, stretching his long legs out in front of him and gently pulling her hand onto his leg, palm up, so he could look at it in the light. He worked quietly, bent over his task, gently cleaning the wound with a corner of the towel he’d wet with the bottled water, pausing whenever she hissed in discomfort.

“Your pants!” Gigi lamented as several drops of her blood dripped onto the knee of his gray twills, turning her away head quickly as he pulled open one of her cuts with two fingers to look for glass in her flesh, not wanting to see inside the cut.

“A little blood won't hurt anything,” he responded without looking up at her, intent on his job.

She wanted to tell him the blood would be hard to get out of the fabric, but she didn't. She wanted to tell him she appreciated him coming to her rescue, but she couldn’t, unsure of the man sitting next to her. Gigi had no idea why he was being so nice to her when she'd been so nasty to him the day of the wake. _“After he was nasty to you first,”_ she reminded herself.

“You have several cuts,” he finally informed her, putting bandages on the the more shallow cuts after cleaning and putting antibiotic ointment on them, trying to keep pressure on the deeper cuts in the middle of her palm which were still bleeding. “It doesn’t look like there’s glass in any of them, but unfortunately, it looks like a few of them are deep enough to need stitches. I think you may have sliced your tendon here.” He took her upturned hand in his palm and pulling it closer, he pointed to the first joint of her index finger.

The corners of Negan's mouth quirked up as his neighbor finally got up the nerve to look at the wounds, leaning towards him and lowering her head to get a better look at her hand as he finished up. He studied her as he worked, aware of her scent as she moved, a light citrus with a hint of vanilla coming off her skin, her hair right under his nose so he could smell her herbal shampoo. Her skin and hair were damp from the heavy mist and her exercise, droplets of water falling from the ends of some of the strands which now hung limp, framing her beautifully serious face. Along with her spandex shorts and tank top she was wearing purple satin ballet shoes, the ribbons wrapped and tied above her ankles. He’d never seen ballet shoes any color other than pastel pink. The shoes had seen a better day, the edges of the openings frayed from wear and the satin fabric torn in one spot, stained  with black skid marks in another.

“That spot hurts the most,” she admitted after looking over the joint he’d pointed out on her finger. Tilting her head back to look up at him from her close vantage point, she questioned him, “Do you think if I'm careful I can avoid getting stitches?” Her big brown eyes were looking up at him as if he held the answers to all the important questions of her universe and it made him smile.

He reduced the pressure he’d been putting on the bleeders, but the little bit of movement from her perusal of the cuts had caused the blood flow to increase from several of them. “No, doll, I don't think you can fucking avoid the stitches, especially if you sliced one of your tendons. And you need antibiotics.” He put several more pads of gauze on top of the existing ones and curled her fingers to put pressure on her palm. Maybe it was the scotch softening him up, but she didn't seem to be as uptight as he'd remembered. He watched her as she looked over her hand again, enjoying being in her space. He found her scent comforting, and the smell of wine on her breath when she'd questioned him had been faint and sweet, tempting him to taste her. _Get the fuck over yourself, asshole. She’d kick your fucking ass off the dock._ He suspected it had only taken 2 or 3 glasses to make her tipsy, since the smell of the wine was inviting, not offensive.

“You had a bad day?” he inquired out of the blue, thinking of her frenzied dance in the mist.

“What do you mean … Ohhhh, right. You saw my crazy, angry dance and my gross display of self-pity.” She smirked to herself, shaking her head in embarrassment.

“No, what I saw was energetic _emoting,_ and a fabulous fucking show of painful, but very satisfying self-pity!” he described exuberantly, rephrasing her harsh self-assessment and making her laugh. Negan didn’t have a clue as to why he felt the need to dig into her personal business, let alone validate her. Maybe it was because he was sure her display had something to do with the loss of her husband. And maybe it was because he could fucking relate.

Looking up at him again with her doe eyes, she nodded, answering quietly, “I buried him … my husband, one month ago, today.”

“It'll get a little easier, each week that goes by,” he reassured her. After a moment of silence he qualified his statement with, “Just a little bit.” _Did I just let myself spew touchy feely shit at her?_ He knew why he'd done it. It was because he could relate to her fucking pain, and anger and confusion. He'd tried to be strong because he'd promised his wife he'd be okay, and he had been, but Lucille's death had fucking crushed him. If the pain of his wife's death could have such a profound fucking impact on his hard ass self, he could only imagine what her loss had done to the wisp in front of him, who had danced out such huge fucking emotions she had made his pussified ass feel her frustration, pain and anger. _Fucking scotch._

“How do you know?” she whispered, as if their conversation was so intimate she didn't want to take the chance of sharing it with anyone else. She kept eye contact with him, her brow furrowed with curiosity, once again looking as if she awaited his wise and vitally important answer.

 _I can't do this shit with her. We've never even had a decent fucking conversation before and I'm going to share my shit with her?_ _Not fucking happening._

Negan dragged his gaze away from hers and began packing up his first aid kit in deafening silence, tossing the towel over his shoulder and putting the cap back on the water bottle. He reached for the flashlight in her hand, casually avoiding her eyes as he illuminated the dock to be sure he had everything.

That's when he heard her very tender, _“Ohhh.”_ When he heard her understanding and empathy.

She suddenly covered his hand with her own. “I'm so sorry,” her voice was full of sadness and concern as she lightly squeezed his hand, and for some reason it pissed him the fuck off.

“Don't be,” he bit at her, pulling his hand away from hers. Negan didn't know why he was so fucking angry, but he was. Gathering the rest of his things, he stood up, turning to walk back to his house.

“Thank you!” her voice called quietly as he walked away, her hesitant tone suggesting she was worried she would anger him further.

Negan stopped, knowing he should apologize for his behavior or at least acknowledge her thanks. More important, he should offer to take her to the emergency room to get stitches. What finally came out of his mouth as he turned back to look at her, surprised him. “My wife died eight weeks and four days ago,” he revealed, letting his neighbor know he understood what she was going through, because he too, was counting the exact number of days and weeks his wife had been gone. He answered her question about how he knew it would get easier by admitting he’d been speaking from experience.

Gigi knew better than to respond with sympathy. She simply nodded, getting up to walk up to her house. “Thanks, again. I’ll get the rest of the glass cleaned up in the light of day,” she stopped to inform him, before walking down the dock past him. The lights suddenly went on in her kitchen and family room, signaling the childrens’ return from their night out. It was perfect timing for Marshall to drive her to the hospital. She put her good hand up over her shoulder to wave goodbye to her neighbor, continuing up the yard and through her basement door.


	5. The Phys Ed Teacher's Wet Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merle laughed again as he pulled a cigarette and lighter out of his shirt pocket. Lighting one up, he headed back towards the staff parking lot, setting an alarm on his phone so he’d be sure to make it to the gym by noon. He wanted to see the look on both of the coaches faces when they figured out they’d be working together. He cackled like a hyena at the thought.

On Friday morning Gigi drove Marshall to the football field at the high school as she’d done every morning for the last five days. Thanks to “the wine glass incident”, as she was referring to it in her mind, for the last three days she’d driven with her left hand, using the last three fingers and the thumb of her right hand when she absolutely needed to, to avoid aggravating her wounds. She had a total of twelve stitches between her lacerated tendon and the deep cuts to her palm. Her right hand looked like something from the Bride of Frankenstein, between the black stitches and the butterfly bandages. She tried not to admonish herself when she thought about it, as she pulled up beside the field at the school to let Marshall out of the car.

After saying goodbye to her nephew, she drove her SUV to the other side of the school to the staff parking lot, excited to find spot number fifty three, which would be her designated parking spot for her new job at Mount Vernon High School. She threw thanks out to the universe and her best friend Carol, for providing her with a new job at the perfect time to help keep her busy, which would help keep her mind off of losing Yuri. Today was her first official day, and it would be a long one. Cheerleading tryouts were beginning in an hour and a half, and she wanted to get into the gym and make sure she had what she needed so tryouts ran smoothly.

She was excited and nervous. This would not only be her first day at Mount Vernon, it would be her first day teaching since obtaining her degree. When she’d had to take a hiatus from dancing due to her knee problems, and it was extended so she could take care of Yuri after his second aneurysm had partially paralyzed him, it had become clear one or both of their medical issues could end her dancing career. She’d decided to go to college, with Yuri’s encouragement so she would have a back up plan. She’d had no desire to work in the administrative offices at the American Ballet Theater, even though Misha had made sure a position high in the ranks had been offered to her after it had become clear she wouldn’t be able to dance for an extended period of time, or possibly, ever again.

Gigi had chosen to major in physical education because she wanted to work with kids, but knew she wouldn’t be happy teaching in a classroom. When she and Yuri had purchased Dale’s house in the same area in Virginia her friend Carol lived with her husband and daughter, the woman had mentioned a job opening in the phys ed department of the high school where she taught home economics. “Our dance and cheerleading person is leaving, Gigi,” her friend had informed her, excitedly. “You need to apply!” They both had been thrilled at the idea of working together again, and thanks to Carol putting in a good word for her with the school’s principal, Gigi had been offered the job.

Turning the corner around the side of the school, Gigi stopped in front of orange cones which were blocking the entrance to the staff parking lot, a sign reading “Wet Paint” propped against one of them. She spied someone, half way down the lot, freshening the paint of the dividing lines between the empty parking spaces with a long handled roller. Thirty feet in front of her another man was running a roller full of orangey yellow paint along the curbs at the entrance. She cocked her head to one side, grinning to herself when she recognized the worker directly in front of her, just as he looked up from his work and spotted her in the driver’s seat of her SUV. Setting down his paint roller, he sauntered towards her, stopping next to her passenger side window.

Hitting the button to roll down the window, Gigi greeted him, “Merle! What’re you doing here?” She really was happy to see a familiar face, even if he was only familiar from a thirty second conversation.

“I should be asking you that question, darlin’. I work here,” he informed her. “You dropping off Marshall for football practice?” Negan had told him the boy had decided to show up for hell week, so he assumed it was the reason for Gigi’s presence so early in the morning.

“I did just drop him off,” she confirmed, assuming the man had seen her nephew at practice, “but I was actually told to park here, in the staff lot. Number fifty three. Since it’s closed, I guess I’ll park at the curb out in front of the school?”

It took Merle a minute few seconds to process what she was telling him, but gleam appeared in his eye as one side of his mouth turned up in a smirk as he guessed, “You teachin’ here this year?” Number fifty three was Jenna Daniels old parking spot. Gigi must be the pregnant woman’s replacement.

“Yep!” She grinned from ear to ear, obviously pleased to share the tidbit of information with her new friend. “Teaching phys ed! I have cheerleading tryouts today in the gym.”

“Oh, Gigi!” the groundskeeper responded dramatically, “Ya mean I’m gonna be able to lay eyes on that fine form of yours every single day?”

She raised an eyebrow at him, admonishing, “Now, Merle. Is that any way to talk to your female coworker in the era of the ‘Me, Too’ movement?” She broke out in another grin, letting the man know his remarks didn’t bother her. For some strange reason, she found his flirtation endearing instead of obnoxious. She didn’t know what it was about him, but normally she shot men like him down in ten seconds or less after their first flirty comment.

“Yes, ma’am. Especially when she’s as beautiful as you are.” He glanced down at his clothes, looking for signs of wet paint before ordering, “Open up,” pulling at the passenger side door handle. After a second of confusion, Gigi hit the button to unlock his door, and he hopped in beside her. “I’ll show you where to park,” he announced. “That’s my brother Daryl.” He pointed past the windshield to the man further down the lot. “He’s new here, too. Just started on Monday. I’ll have to introduce you later. Now back up, and then turn left at the stop sign,” he instructed.

Gigi grinned at her new buddy’s efforts to help her find her way and meet other staff members. Putting her car in reverse she followed his orders as he asked about her injured hand. She was vague in her response, telling him she cut herself on some glass. The last thing she needed was for her new co workers to know she’d hurt herself in a moment of wine induced self drama. They chatted about the school while Merle guided her around the building, past the football field. “What’s that about?” Gigi pointed her index finger at the group of boys on the field. They were all kneeling on one knee, eyes lowered, one or two of them glancing up warily at something, or more likely someone, hidden behind the cinder block concession stand which was blocking them from her view. It looked odd, when she’d expected to see the teens performing drills, or practicing plays.

“Coach must be giving them a raft of shit,” Merle explained. “Someone mouthed off, or screwed up, and he’s givin’ ‘em hell for it, based on the look on number eighty one’s face.”

“He makes them kneel on one knee?” Gigi asked incredulously. “Isn’t that a bit demeaning?”

“Coach Negan demands respect from his players,” the man defended his friend.  “He’s old school, Gigi. ‘Speak when you’re spoken to’ and all that kind of stuff. Like our parents used to be, not like the helicopter moms that raised these kids. They kneel when he hits the field in the morning. They kneel while he goes over plays with ‘em, or gives them grief. Kind of like standin’ at attention in the military.”

“I agree with children needing to respect adults, but respect should be earned not demanded, don't you think? Sounds like the coach has a big ego. Be honest with me,” she grinned as he looked over at Merle, wanting him to fill her in on some staff gossip, “Is he a jerk?”

The groundskeeper stared at her for a moment after she turned her head back to look at the road in front of her, understanding finally washing over him. _Oh,_ _Gigi, Gigi, Gigi. This is just too damn good to be true._ “Ya mean you haven’t met the coach yet?” He wondered how Marshall had talked to his aunt about football practice without mentioning the man next door was the coach. This was going to be a hell of a lotta fun.

Gigi couldn’t figure out why his tone was so dramatic when he questioned her. “No, why?”

“Between you and me, he’s a real asshole,” Merle revealed as if he were telling her in confidence. “But he doesn’t bother me, none. I’ve learned how to get along with him.”

“He’s that bad?” she frowned at the news.

“Yeah, he is,” the groundskeeper confirmed.

“Huh,” Gigi pursed her lips as she pulled into the spot the groundskeeper pointed out to her. “Sounds like someone needs to put the coach in his place.”

“And you think that’ll be you?” Merle questioned her, knowing it wouldn’t be the first time she’d put Negan in his place.

“I have a hard time putting up with people like that, Merle,” she confessed as if it were a weakness.

“Well, I can’t wait ‘til you meet him, Coach … “ he trailed off, waiting for the woman to fill in her last name.

“Coach Sokolov,” Gigi supplied as she put the car in park, hopping out and grabbing a couple of tote bags from the back. Her new buddy helped her lift a rolling cooler and set it on the ground. “Thanks, Merle. I really appreciate the help.”

“It’s a pleasure, darlin’. You need help carryin' that stuff in?”

“Nah, I’ve got it. Thanks, though.” She used her good hand to put the bags over her shoulder, and then grabbed the handle of the cooler to roll it behind her.

“Right through those doors, Gigi,” Merle pointed to a set of double doors on the the building. “The gym is straight ahead.” He watched her walk inside, breaking out in laughter the minute the doors closed behind her. Pulling out his phone, he texted Negan, hoping his friend would see the message before he took his lunch break.

**7:35 AM**

_Just laid eyes on_

_the new cheerleading_

_coach. I got a big ass_

_hard on._

 

**7:37 AM     Dickhead**

_She’s hot? My type or_

_yours?_

 

**7:37 AM**

_Could fry an_

_egg on her ass._

_Def yours._

 

**7:38 AM    Dickhead**

_Nice! Eggs sound_

_great for lunch. I’ll_

_chk her out then._

 

Merle laughed again as he pulled a cigarette and lighter out of his shirt pocket. Lighting up, he headed back towards the staff parking lot, setting an alarm on his phone so he’d be sure to make it to the gym by noon. He wanted to see the look on both coach’s faces when they figured out they’d be working together. He cackled like a hyena at the thought.

_________

“Anyone have any questions?” Gigi asked the five dozen students who had shown up for tryouts and were now sitting on the floor in rows, in front of her. She’d explained the tryout process, and wanted to be sure she had been clear.  “For those of you who have been on the team in the past, I know this tryout process, and how I’ll manage the varsity and junior varsity teams, will be different than in the past. But I’d like to see Mount Vernon’s squads make it to nationals this year, and I know I can make that happen with the right people on my squads.”

A hand went up from the back row. _How did I know_ _one of the Mean Girls would have a question?_ Penny Blake and her friends Frankie, Amber and Jojo had walked into the gymnasium twenty minutes late, bad attitude written all over them. They’d proceeded to scan the room, making no effort to hide their turned up noses and judgemental glares. Their appraisals weren’t limited to the other students. Gigi had smiled at them when they looked her over, and directing them to have a seat in a friendly voice, quelling her desire to challenge them with a raised eyebrow. She hadn’t had to wait for them to sign in to figure out who they were, because she’d been prepared for them. Carol had filled her in on the dynamics of the teens on the cheerleading squads, and Gigi had been annoyed to hear there had been a hierarchy in place which left little room for movement up or down the ladder. Her friend had also filled her in about the handful of mean spirited girls, Penny and Frankie included, who dominated the squads and made their underlings lives miserable. The teachers had dubbed them the Mean Girls, after the movie of the same name.

“They’re going to be in for a surprise when I come in and shake things up,” the new coach had informed her best friend.

“I don’t know, Gigi. You may meet with some resistance about making radical changes to the way things are done. Penny Blake’s father is the district attorney. You know, the one running for governor?”

“Are you serious?” the new teacher had challenged her friend. “What does her father have to do with why no one’s shut her down?”

“He donates a lot of money to the school. You’ll be working and holding practices in the Philip H. Blake gymnasium, Gigi. They dedicated it to him because he donated the money for the new bleachers in the gym, and all of the gymnastics equipment. He donated all of his _wife’s_ money, I should say. Apparently Mrs. Blake’s inheritance is the reason for the Blake's wealth.”

“Are the administrators aware of the misery the girls cause? I would think what they do would be considered bullying.”

“Yep, but since none of the students or parents have complained, they haven’t had to take any action where the girls are concerned,” the home economics teacher had related.

“Interesting. I think Penny and her friends are going to be in for a rude awakening.”

Carol had giggled at Gigi’s determination, knowing her friend would turn things upside down if she needed to, in order to run things in a way she thought was fair. “I have no doubt they are! Just be prepared for some backlash.”

________

“Why do the people who were on the team last year have to try out again?”

“Good question, Penny,” Gigi praised, smiling at the girl. “I know this will be disconcerting for some of you, but everyone will need to earn their position on my squads, and some of last year’s junior varsity cheerleaders may be ready to advance to varsity. Today I’ll pick the members of both squads. The new squads will come to practice for the next few weeks, and then right before school starts, I’ll announce the captains for each. I think it’s important the captains I pick work well with both their fellow team members and me. I also need to be sure they can handle the organizational tasks I give them, and are dedicated to making Mount Vernon’s squads the best.  I’ll need to work with everyone for a few weeks before I know who will be best suited for the position, don’t you think?” She smiled as she looked over the whole group, making eye contact with many of the teens, including Penny.

“Today?” Frankie questioned, her upset clear in her voice. “How can you pick the squad members after only one day?”

“Don’t worry, Frankie,” the coach reassured her. “It will be pretty obvious who’s right for the squads when we do the first few run throughs of the routine. We’re going to handle tryouts like an audition for Broadway, or one of the New York City ballet companies I used to dance for. I’m sure I can select the squad members today, but if I need to do call backs, I will.”

“I knew it was _her!_ ” Amber declared loudly, looking at her bff and then back to the new coach, for validation. “You’re Gigi Sokolov, the ballerina!” An excited murmur went up from the students as they stared at the celebrity standing front of them. Many of the teens had recognized the new coach when they’d signed in on arrival. The dancer had confirmed who she was, to the delight of the group. Some photos and selfies with the dancer had been taken by the students and immediately sent to friends and family or posted on social media, but since Penny and her entourage had walked in twenty minutes late, when the students were already seated in front of the coach on the floor, they weren’t in the loop. A look of surprise came over Jojo's face, while Penny continued to scowl as she studied the coach at the front of the gym.  

“Yes, I am,” Gigi confirmed. “So I have quite a bit of experience with auditions, and am sure I’ll be able to single out the best people for our teams. Today.” Coach Sokolov raised her voice, letting the group know it was time to get down to business. “Let’s get started! I hope you all memorized the routine I posted online? Give me five rows!” She moved to her cell phone, sitting on the table right inside the gymnasium doors to pull up her playlist for the day, and make sure it was connected to the school’s Bluetooth speakers.

Turning back around to the cheerleading hopefuls and walking to the front row, she ordered, “Scatter!” moving some people in the front row so a person in row two was standing behind the empty space between the two people in front of them, making it easier for her to see everyone. “I want you six feet apart, please!” The majority of the teens rushed to correct how they were standing, following the coach’s orders, while Penny and her three friends in the back row dragged their feet, some of them rolling their eyes as if they were being put out by the directive.

“All right, kids!” Gigi called out happily, nodding at some of the teens for encouragement and ignoring the ones who weren’t in position yet. “Let’s go! Show me what you’ve got!” After hitting play on her cell phone, she positioned herself in front of the group, facing them, mirroring their starting position for the routine so she could perform with them. The music started, and Coach Sokolov smiled in her excitement, happy to be at her first day of her new job, dancing with the group of teens in front of her as she chanted loudly to the first beats of the music, “Five, six, seven, eight … ”

_________

“What the fuck is your problem?” Negan demanded as he approached Merle, who was standing in the hallway outside of the gymnasium at noon, a huge grin on his face.

“Ain’t got a problem, Coach Negan! I’m just thankful for this fantastic day, my fantastic job, and my fantastic buddy!” the groundskeeper informed him in his most cheerful voice, slapping him on the upper arm.

“You are so fucking full of shit,” his fantastically agitated buddy retorted with a shake of his head as he moved to open the door to the gym. The teenage assholes on the football field had been trying his patience since practice had started at seven-thirty, and he was glad to have a break from them. He’d told them their brains must have been scrambled from too many hits to the head if they thought he was going to put up with their pathetic fucking work ethic. The boys had done a bit better after the reaming, but not much.  

He could hear what he assumed was the new the teacher’s voice inside the gym calling out to her students, and he was thrilled she hadn’t taken a break for lunch yet. He’d love to get a glimpse of her fine ass. The sounds of laughter could be heard every few seconds, and the sound of the woman’s voice, friendly but full of dramatic sarcasm criticized, “Come on boys! Can’t you keep up with me?” More laughter erupted inside the room as the football coach opened one door in the last of four sets of double doors which ran along the front of the gym, so they’d enter the room at the front corner of the room.

Merle was right on Negan’s heels as he stepped inside, both men wondering what was going on inside. “What the fuck?” Negan  pondered out loud as he took in the scene in front of him. Six of his football players were standing in front of the crowd of cheerleading hopefuls. In full football gear, they were trying to balance on one foot, most of them using a hand to hold their opposite thigh for support. Fat Joseph, one of Negan’s linebackers, was the epitome of ungainliness as he tried again and again to raise one leg higher than his hip as he reached for his thigh.

“Ya gotta give him kudos for the pointed toes,” Merle murmured, both men chuckling as the boy flexed and unflexed his foot while he continued to grab at his thigh in an effort to get a good grip on it.

The football coach was trying to figure out why his linebacker was contorting into the strange pose when he noticed the woman in spandex workout shorts and a Mount Vernon tee shirt standing in front of the young men, halfway down the room, directly to his left. The cheerleading coach was standing on one foot, just as the boys were, but she was the picture of grace, the leg closest to him raised straight up in the air to the side of her hip, toes pointed at the ceiling. Both arms were raised in a “V” over her shoulders, one hand casually wrapped behind the ankle of the leg in the air.

“Like this, boys!” Their example lowered and raised her leg a few times in demonstration, before moving her leg straight out to her side and turning on her one foot before raising the leg again so they could see her pose from the back. “I can stand like this all day,” she assured them before changed poses again, deliberately slow and graceful in positioning the same leg straight up in front of her torso this time, one hand resting lightly behind her knee to keep it in place. “Can you?”

Both men were fascinated at how the woman’s toes were pointed at the sky, the front of her thigh touching her chest in a pose which seemed effortless for her. Her raised foot never touched the ground and she never swayed or faltered as she moved from pose to pose, both seeming as if they should be physically impossible. It was while he watched the coach's hand snake around the back of her knee that Negan finally looked at the her face, recognizing his neighbor. _You have got to be fucking kidding me._  He smacked Merle in the chest forcefully with the back of his hand, giving him a deadly stare over his shoulder as he started to move towards Gigi. Putting aside his discontent about the new coach’s identity, he couldn’t wait to hear why the fuck she was calling out his players. She was clearly giving them a hard time, trying to make an example out of them.

“What’s going on here, boys?” he spoke to his players, instead of the woman in front of them, agitated because the reason for these fucking gymnastics were keeping him from his fucking lunch.

The teens seemed relieved to see him, Oscar calling out, “Coach! Tell her we don’t have to do this shit!”

Gigi maintained her composure when she recognized the football coach, her mind taking a few seconds to catch on to the implication of what she was seeing. _Noooooo! Merle! You jerk!_ She raised an eyebrow at the groundskeeper who followed the coach as he approached his six players. The rat had the nerve to throw a wink and a smile her way before positioning himself a few feet from her. 

“Mouth, Oscar! Drop and give me fifty!” Negan didn’t give a fuck what the woman was asking them to do. Mouthing off, and cursing in front an authority figure … _Fuck! She’s teaching here_ … was unacceptable.

“Seriously, Coach?” the boy challenged him incredulously.

“Yes, _seriously_ ,” he retorted, mocking the teen’s tone of voice before stopping himself from adding ‘you disrespectful shit’.

Sure, Negan swore around the kids, but he never swore directly atthem. He knew he was pushing what was acceptable by cursing in front of them repeatedly, but no one would ever be able to call him abusive. He told his players and hopefuls on the first day of hell week, if they wanted to be on his team, they needed to man the fuck up. He wouldn’t work with goddamn pussies who ran crying to mommy that ‘Coach says the F word’, he’d informed them.  The kids all seemed to respect his directive because they thought it was cool he swore like a sailor, and they’d found out quickly, while he didn’t call them out for casual swearing around each other, he wouldn’t tolerate them swearing at someone, or when other adults were around. “There’s a fucking difference,” he’d told them, “between cursing and cursing at someone. And just because I don't mind hearing your fucking foul mouths doesn't mean everyone is okay with it!” He felt strongly about the matter, since he had been raised by his mother to respect his elders, and authority figures. They were values he felt were sorely fucking lacking in today’s youth.

“Your disrespect to me will cost you another fifty. And you’ll apologize to Coach … Coach …” He extended his arm towards Gigi as he walked towards Oscar, rolling his wrist and hand in a signal for her to fill in the blank. _I don’t know her fucking name_.

“Sokolov,” was the woman’s curt response. 

“When you're done you’ll apologize to Coach Sokolov!” Negan’s voice rose a few decibels as he repeated his command in the teen’s face, making it clear the player’s disrespect towards him, the cheerleading coach, and everyone else in the room wouldn’t be tolerated.

“Yes, sir,” the boy responded, more attitude than remorse in his voice.

Negan turned to approach Coach Sokolov at the same time she walked towards him. “You! Meet me in my office,” he demanded, emphasizing who he was talking to by pointing at her. While he was pissed at Oscar, he wanted to know why the fuck she was calling out his boys in front of her cheerleaders. If she’d had a problem with one of them, she should have approached him about handling it. Turning to walk away from her, he headed towards the opposite end of the room, to the double doors which opened into the hallway right outside of his office. He needed a fucking sandwich.

Gigi couldn’t believe she would be working with her cranky neighbor, _who also happens to be helpful in a crisis,_ in the same department. Every weekday of the school year. Even more unbelievable, was how he’d just ordered her to his office as if she was one of his students. _Who the heck does he think he is? He’s got another thing coming if he thinks he can talk to me that way._ “Maybe after practice, Coach Negan?” she called to him across the large room, making sure her tone and body language were light as she refused his demand. “I’m in the middle of tryouts. I’ll try to find you later, if I have time.”

The room became deathly quiet, a lowly “My, my, Coach Sokolov. Ain’t you somethin’,” sounding from the groundskeeper a few feet behind her, meant only for his own and Gigi's ears. Coach Negan was big shit at Mount Vernon, partly due to his exceptional coaching and partly due to the way he naturally exuded authority. People unwittingly fell in line behind him, and when they didn’t, the coach could make their lives miserable. Loyal as he was to his buddy, Merle admired the serious balls it had taken for the new kid on the block to challenge him on her first day. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d told him she wouldn’t put up with the football coach’s shit.

Gigi gave Merle the evil eye over her shoulder and then deliberately ignored Negan as he turned around and started to walk back in her direction. Moving back to the front of the crowd of students, she shooed the remaining football players out of her space with her hands, leaving Oscar in the middle of the floor trying to complete his first fifty push ups. “Your performance was inspiring boys,” she chided with light sarcasm as they headed towards the doors. “I hope you’ll keep your unsolicited opinions that dancing requires no athleticism to yourself in future, since I’ve proven to you the opinion is unfounded.”

While nods and mumbled apologies were offered by the players leaving the room, Oscar huffed out a, “Yeah, right,” loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, including Negan. _This kid is fucking pushing his luck!_ Negan  picked up his pace towards the boy, prepared to ream the kid a new asshole.

Gigi walked over to Oscar, nonchalantly directing the rest of the students in the room to line up in rows behind him in position to cheer. Once everyone was in place, the new coach stepped up to the teen performing penance on the floor and placed one foot gently on his lower back, leaning some of her weight onto it to make the boy’s pushups much more laborious. She wanted to handle the boy’s mouthiness on her own. If his coach kept stepping in, he would invalidate her authority with the students. She needed to prove she was worthy of, and also expected their respect.

“Are you kidding me?” Oscar grunted up at her as he struggled to push upwards against the weight on his back.

“Not in the least,” Gigi assured him calmly before she called to the kids in front of her, “Let’s start where we left off people!”

Raising both eyebrows at the bitchy little thing practically standing on his running back, Negan caught the woman’s eye as she started to count out the starting beats of a cheerleading sequence. The coach looked down at Oscar, then back up to her, giving a single nod of approval at her response to his mouthiness. He’d let her handle this one, but he was still going to give her a raft of fucking shit for not coming to him first about a problem with his players.

“I wanna see hips and butts moving, people! Use ‘em or lose ‘em!” Gigi joked with her students as they started to move, keeping eye contact with the jerk at the back of the room. Expecting him to be angry with her disciplinary measure, she was surprised when he nodded at her, slight as it was, before leaving. She still wasn’t going to meet him in his office, though, now or later. She bristled, thinking about how he'd patronized her.

___________

At four o’clock, Negan headed back into the phys ed wing of the building, swearing under his breath when he was just about trampled by a group of girls rushing out of the doors. “Sorry Coach Negan!” one of them apologized as she brushed past him, continuing her conversation with her friends. “I’m so excited we made the team!”

Holding a hand up over his shoulder in acknowledgement of her apology, he kept moving, wanting to get to his office to grab his things, then go the fuck home and relax.

“Can you believe we have somebody famous teaching at Mount Vernon?” Another group of students walked towards him. “My sister will die when she hears Gigi Sokolov is our coach!”

“Right? Wait til I tell my mom!”

Negan didn’t know what the fuck they were babbling about, only taking in half of what they were discussing. He was tired, and just wanted them to get the fuck out of his way so he could keep moving in the direction of his office. Spotting Merle at the far end of the empty hallway outside of the gym, he called, “I’ve got a fucking bone to pick with you, asshole!” He hadn’t had the chance earlier, to give the man shit about keeping the new teacher's identity to himself when he’d texted about the hot new cheerleading coach.

Another dozen students barreled out of the gym into the hallway, all gushing about their fabulous new coach, once again referring to her as famous. “What the fuck are they talking about?” he questioned his buddy, who had joined him by the doors leading into the gym as the girls walked by, squealing about how lucky they were.

His friend grinned at him, explaining vaguely, “Turns out your new neighbor doesn’t just dance for you, my friend.”

Negan looked the man, confused. He’d mentioned seeing Gigi dance in the dark when he’d come home from the Keg earlier in the week, keeping her inebriation and her tussle with her wine glass, to himself. “What the hell are you talking about Merle?”

Having overheard one of the office staff talking about the world renowned prima ballerina, the groundskeeper had looked her up online. Pulling out his phone, he tapped on one of the icons on the home screen. “Here,” he moved closer to the coach, flipping through his open internet pages before stopping on the one he was looking for.

Negan leaned in closer, smacking Merle’s free hand away to stop him from flicking his finger up the screen repeatedly to scroll, which was making it impossible for the coach to focus on anything on the page. The groundskeeper elbowed him in the chest in response, after which Negan shoved the man’s head to the side with his palm while grabbing the phone out of his hand.

“Fucker!” the redneck berated him with a laugh.

Negan stared at the screen, using two fingers to zoom in on one of the photos in a collection of many. Staring back at him was his beautiful, pain in the ass, neighbor. He was looking at a portrait taken about a decade before, in a mirrored dance studio. Gigi was dressed in a white leotard, tights, and purple satin toe shoes. Her side was to the camera. He recognized the unique purple shoes on her feet, though they looked brand new in the photo, without the wear and tear he’d seen out on the dock. She was on the toes of her far foot, knee slightly bent, her back arched so her head and hands hovered not far from the floor. A man the coach recognized as her husband, dressed all in black, was face forward in a casual stance behind her, with his hand underneath her curved back, supporting her weight effortlessly as her forward leg extended straight up in the air in front of him, toes pointed. His cheek rested on the back of his wife’s upside down calf, as he stared into the camera with a soft smile. In contrast, the look on his wife’s face was solemn, her head turned to look into the camera as well.  

He scrolled once more before he stopping on a picture, his eyes taking in every nuance of the image which was fuel for a phys ed teacher’s wet dreams. The dancer’s perfectly toned body filled the frame of the photo. She was mid leap, several feet off the ground. Her front leg was extended in front of her, her back leg bent so her toes seemed as if they would touch the back of her head. Her torso and head were arched backwards supplely, as if her forward momentum was so great they'd been pushed backwards by its force. Her arms followed the line of her spine, extended gracefully beyond her head. She was wearing a sleeveless short unitard, her legs bare, revealing the sheen of workout warmed skin. The muscles in her thighs and calves were flexed, and so deliciously fucking taut, as were the muscles in her arms, making Negan’s mouth start to water as he pictured his own hands running along her thighs. _Fuckity, fucking, fuck._

“So her husband wasn’t always in a wheelchair,” Merle interrupted Negan’s fantasy with his observation.

“I wonder what the fuck happened?” the coach responded thoughtfully.

__________

Gigi was glad her day was over. It had been long and difficult, but it had also been very satisfying. She had narrowed down several dozen girls and a handful of boys to two teams of fifteen for her varsity and junior varsity teams.

Right before lunch she had divided the teens in half, dismissing one half by telling them she’d set up snacks, desserts and drinks in the cafeteria at the other end of the hall. The group had raced out of the room at the promise of sweet potato chips and juice boxes. Once they were gone, she thanked the remaining students for coming and for their hard work, gently informing them they would not be moving forward in the tryouts. She had been certain she already knew who she wanted on her squads, but she’d wanted to push the remaining students to test their endurance, capabilities and attitudes under pressure.

When the rest of the teens had returned from the lunch room, they’d quickly caught on the others had been cut from tryouts, whispering among themselves both in excitement and nervousness. “So all the losers are gone?” Penny had snarked when she’d walked back into the gym with her friends. “I can’t believe some of them had the nerve to even show up! Did you see Evelyn Sanders? She couldn’t dance her way out of a paper bag!” The girl had laughed, her friends joining her. Gigi had wanted to cut the girl and her entourage with the first group to get rid of their toxic attitudes, but she had to admit their dancing was worthy of a move to the next round.

At the end of the day after three more hours of practice, the coach had divided the remaining teens into two groups, asking one group to grab their things and walk with her to the cafeteria, advising the rest of the teens to remain in the gym. Penny and her friends were clearly shocked they were not all in the same group. She and Jojo were told to go to the cafeteria, while Frankie and Amber were directed to stay. Looking around as they’d left the gym, Penny had informed her friend, loud enough for the other students and Gigi to overhear, “We must be in the group who were picked for the squads, since that fat girl, isn’t going with us. I can’t believe she even showed up for tryouts!”

The coach had held her tongue, deciding to wait until after she talked to the group in the cafeteria to reprimand the girls about their name calling. When she had started speaking to the group once they entered the room, Penny’s smug expression changed to a look of confusion and then anger after the coach had thanked them for their hard work, then informed them as talented as they were, they had not been chosen for Mount Vernon’s cheerleading squads. The teacher had seen Penny fuming, and had once again ignored her huffing and snide comments as she thanked the group once more and told them she hoped she’d see them again during the school year.

Seeing the disappointment on the kids’ faces hadn’t been easy, and she’d tried to say some encouraging words to each individual as they’d left the cafeteria, aside from Penny and Jojo, since the two had stormed out of the room the before she’d finished talking. Gigi’s mood was immediately lightened, though, when she walked back into the gym and asked the group, “Would any of my new cheerleaders like a chocolate cupcake? I hid some in the bottom of my box so we could celebrate!” Realizing they had made the cut, cheers and squeals went up from the group, several of the kids running up to hug their new coach. Gigi had spent another twenty minutes chatting with the team members about her ideas and goals for the squads, before dismissing them at 4:00.

Loading her things into the back of her SUV, Gigi dropped into the driver’s seat, pulling out her phone to see if she had any text or voice messages. The text she found made her smile. 

**4:01     Misha**

_How did your first_

_day go, malyshka?_

 

She had mentioned to her friend the night before, she’d be finishing work at four o’clock. She smiled at the timing of his message.

 

 **4:14**

_It was amazing!_

 

**4:15     Misha**

_I knew you would be._ _;)_

 _Call you_ _later._

 

**4:15**

_XOXOXOXO_

 

She dropped her phone into her bag as Marshall approached the car and pulled open the passenger side door with a big smile for his aunt. Gigi loved her nephew and niece with all her heart, and she felt so honored and so fortunate to be able to parent them. Their presence in her life was such a blessing, and they had been a source of great comfort for her in the last month.

The boy strapped himself into the seat, sweaty football gear and all, as his aunt smiled back at him. She waited for him to get settled before she asked him lightly, “Did you forget to tell me something about your football coach, Marshall?”

_________

Negan walked through the door leading from the garage into his kitchen, immediately heading to the master bedroom to shower. He was a man on a mission, after his shower, as he threw together some leftovers for dinner and carried them and his laptop, out to the table on the deck. He’d been intrigued by the little bit he’d learned about the woman next door, and he was compelled to find out more details about her. What had happened to her husband? Why the fuck was she teaching phys ed at Mount Vernon, instead of dancing?

He was still pissed as fuck she’d disciplined his players, and about her refusal to meet him in his office. He didn’t give a fuck she’d been in the middle of tryouts. He was the head of the fucking phys ed department. She should have dropped what she was doing and met him in his fucking office. The woman was lucky he hadn’t lit into her right there, when she’d refused him in front of a room full of students. Coach Sokolov obviously didn’t know how things worked in his phys ed department. Even so, it had been abso-fucking-lutely unacceptable.

Taking a bite of the chicken alfredo he'd whipped up for dinner two nights before, Negan turned on his laptop and clicked on the Google Chrome icon, then typed _Gigi Sokolov_ into the search box. After perusing a few more photos of her, he clicked on the word _News_ at the top of the page of search results. Scrolling down, he honed in on several blurbs about the death of her husband Yuri, dated the month before.

Fifteen minutes later, as he read a several year old _TIME_ magazine article titled _'The Prodigies'_ about the rise of the Sokolovs in the dance world, Gigi walked down the yard to the dock to take her afternoon swim. As she moved, Negan wondered what she would do when the weather got too cold for her water workout. After he ogled her ass and watched her dive in, he continued his reading. The several page article talked about how Mikhail Baryshnikov, whose name Negan recognized as one of the greatest dancers of all time, had taken the pair under his wing when they had been new to the dance scene. His choreography, along with the beautiful couple’s talent, had sparked new interest in modern ballet. While the pair had danced together, ticket sales and profits had hit an all time high for the art. Apparently both the choreographer and his dancers were smart enough to strike deals with their ballet company to receive a percentage of the profits from all of the Sokolov's performances, making the three dance icons the highest paid in ballet history.

The coach took a break from reading to finish eating his cold chicken and pasta when he heard the repetitive splash of Gigi’s swimming in the distance, signaling her return. Negan studied her as she got out of the water, dried off and walked up to her house, looking at her with a different eye after reading she had been the brains and the driving force in all of the couple’s lucrative business deals. His neighbor wasn’t just a pretty ass, so to speak.

“I’m the one with the power when we're on the dance floor, but she’s the powerhouse when it comes to business,” Yuri had been quoted by the author.  

The article had several photos, including one of the couple in their ritzy New York loft, which had been their home at the time the article had been published. After reading about their wealth, Negan couldn’t help but wonder what the fuck Gigi was doing living in suburban Northern Virginia in a house that was worth a fraction of the value of their New York dwelling. He also wondered where in the timeline the kids had come to live with them. One of the blurbs he'd read mentioned she’d asked the press to respect the children’s privacy, and would not answer questions about them.  

Before he knew it, it was after eight o’clock, the sun setting. He sat back in his chair, elbow on the armrest, his index finger running back and forth across his lips. His neighbor’s story was interesting, to say the least; small town girl, turned ballet royalty. She had been diagnosed with a meniscal tear and osteoarthritis in her knee a few years before, which had put her dance career on hold. She obviously could still dance, Negan thought to himself, but perhaps not at the level needed to continue her arduous career. He could sympathize with her plight since he'd had to stop playing basketball due to his own injury back in college. He still loved playing with his buddies, and hit the court as often as he could, but he always paid the price, in pain, for days afterwards.

The year before, Gigi's husband had suffered from a brain aneurysm. It had affected his coordination and balance profoundly, ending his dancing career. A second one, a few months later, had left him fully paralyzed on one side of his body, which explained the wheelchair. Negan was surprised to read Yuri had commited suicide. There was speculation he’d been depressed as a result of his declining health, and possibly from the physical changes to his brain after the aneurysm. It was thought he’d taken own life due to his severely depressed state. When the widow had been asked about the matter shortly after her husband’s death, she’d refused to comment.

No wonder the she had danced with such confusion and anger in the mist on the dock. What her husband had done just fucking sucked ass for the wife and kids he left behind. The woman next door seemed to be an ongoing thorn in his side, but now, having read her story, he had a tiny bit more understanding about why she was such a pill. A hot, talented, business savvy, fucking pill.

After Negan had pieced together her history, he’d clicked on the _Videos_ tab on the top of the search results, clicking a link for Youtube. He’d never realized ballet was so popular. One video, in which Gigi demonstrated a grand jeté, had over 4 million views. He watched one video after the other, once again impressed by the woman’s athleticism. He was mesmerized by the lifts and throws, watching snippets of them over an over, pausing at certain spots to try and dissect how they were done. The woman’s husband could toss her in the air like she was a sack of fucking feathers. Along with Yuri’s strength, he knew Gigi’s grace was a significant part of the reason why they made the moves look effortless.

Finally turning off his computer, Negan sat in the dark for a time, enjoying the sounds of the water and the wildlife. As he was finishing the last of his beer, movement in the yard next door caught his eye, and he once again spied on the figure in the dark. She started to dance the minute her foot stepped onto the dock, leaping and twirling to the other end. Her mood was much different than it had been three nights before. _She’s happy tonight_ , he thought to himself as she stepped and flitted and pranced. He didn’t watch her long before he gathered his things to go inside, because she wouldn’t need his help tonight.


	6. Crazy Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negan leaned forward in his seat as he continued, putting his elbows on his desk to push back at her intrusion into his personal space. “Since you have finally graced me with your presence when I only have a few minutes to talk to you before I have to be out on the field, I will tell you very quickly that in future, you need to come to me before you discipline my players, no matter how you’ve justified your actions in your own mind, and let me handle my boys. Thank you.”

“You’ve dealt with men like him before, Gigi,” Misha reminded her over the phone the night of cheerleading tryouts, his familiar, rich Russian accent and soothing tone calming her agitation over her neighbor’s behavior in front of the other students. He always could calm her easily. “Hell, if you could handle me at my worst, you can handle this football coach.”

“True,” she chuckled, as memories of his nitpicking and patronizing attitude as he’d instructed her and Yuri at the ABT flooded her mind. Mikhail would push too hard, or criticize her too harshly when he wasn’t happy with her performance, and Gigi would get defensive. She would shut him down, refusing to talk to him, insisting, “Let’s continue.” The ballerina would give him the cold shoulder for the rest of their day, refusing to engage in conversation other than about dance, while Misha would try to overcompensate for his undesirable words or actions with attention and affection, making it clear he was sorry without ever apologizing. At the end of the day, the ballet king would corner her, wrapping his arms around her and atoning for his behavior by murmuring endearments such as, “You know I push you so hard because I know you can achieve perfection, malyshka. I have seen your perfection over and over, and this performance should be no exception.”

She would melt at his words, hugging him tightly as she acknowledged, “I know, Misha. It is just so hard to hear such harsh words coming from someone I respect and care for so much.” Gigi cared for him very deeply. The man had not only been her mentor, but had also her protector, her best friend, and family to her and Yuri while they lived and worked in New York.

Mikhail Baryshnikov had also been the man Gigi had harbored a secret crush on since the night she’d met him at the NYBC performance of Giselle. She had loved Yuri with all her heart, and he would always be the boy of her dreams, but Mikhail was the man of her dreams.

Her husband had been a good man, and Gigi had loved him desperately. He'd made it clear, over and over, she was the light of his life. They had climbed the overwhelming ladder to success together, and her husband had supported every dream, dance move and business idea she had come up with, letting her take the reins on most aspects of their lives. This wasn’t out of deference. Yuri was a momma’s boy, and was more than happy to let Gigi take over mothering him when they married, much to her delight and chagrin. Since she was a control freak, they complimented each other well, but she had to admit there had been times when she would have liked her husband to take charge … of something. Anything, really. She would have loved him to have taken over paying the bills, checking in with their accountant, or looking over their business contracts before the couple signed them. She would have loved for him to simply pick what restaurant they’d go to for dinner on date night, or who would be on top when they made love, but it was all left to her to orchestrate, because Yuri liked to be taken care of. Misha, on the other hand, had always doted on Gigi and made sure she had the support she needed, since Yuri often didn’t notice when his wife was struggling with something, unless she spelled it out for him. Sometimes she just hadn't felt like spelling things out.

Because Yuri had let her make all the decisions, not offering much input about serious matters, Gigi had often found herself turning to Misha to bounce ideas off of, or to ask advice about business matters he had more experience with. While he was passionate and driven by emotion in dance and in his personal life, he was grounded and logical in his business decisions, and the ballerina found his advice invaluable.

For the most part, her close relationship with Mikhail did not bother Yuri, but on occasion Gigi’s husband would need reassurance Misha was only a mentor and friend to her, and nothing else. She would gently remind her partner, very truthfully, he was her soulmate, and no other man could take his place. She was his and his alone. Yuri had never known his wife had a crush on their mentor. She’d hidden it well from both men, because in her mind, her crush on Misha had always been only that, a fangirl crush on a man who was well out of her league.

After Gigi’s husband had suffered his second aneurysm, which had changed his personality so drastically, she had been especially relieved she no longer had to reassure him of her love, because if he would have questioned her then about her feelings for him, after months of taking his uncharacteristic anger out on her, and living with the debilitating depression and mood shifts which had clouded every moment they'd spent together, Gigi would have had a hard time reassuring him she felt he was her soulmate, and he would always be her one and only. Gigi had taken her marriage vows very seriously, and remained committed to her husband through the absolute worst of "for better or worse".

Misha had continued to remain close with the couple after the Sokolovs had both left the dance world, and had moved to Northern Virginia. Misha still talked with Gigi several times a week, sometimes for hours. Once her life had changed so radically with Yuri’s declining health, her friend had been her lifeline, and had kept her sane despite all of the negativity and stress in her life. He’d also validated her frustration and sorrow over the change in her husband and supported her through the change in the couple’s relationship from loving, passionate partners to caregiver and patient. “Stop being so hard on yourself, Gigi. You are doing your absolute best for Yuri,” Mikhail had assured her when she’d expressed her guilt over the change in her feelings towards her husband, “What you are going through is perfectly understandable. He is not the same man he was a year ago, and he especially is not the same man you fell in love with.” It had broken Gigi’s heart to admit her to her friend and herself, he was right.

She knew Misha was right about her new neighbor as well. She had handled much bigger problems than Coach Negan, and she was sure she could find a way to make working with him easier.

_________

When Gigi had questioned Marshall about his neglect in mentioning Mount Vernon’s football coach was also their neighbor, her nephew looked more than a little sheepish in admitting he hadn’t mentioned it because he knew she thought the man was a jerk after the way he talked to her the day of his uncle’s funeral. “He definitely yells a _lot_ ,” the boy had confided. “But he’s a great coach, and when you talk to him one on one, he’s actually pretty cool, you know?”

 _I do know,_ Gigi had wanted to tell him, because the coach had been so concerned and kind in taking care of her injury after the glass incident. Recalling how he’d he’d snapped at her when she’d shown sympathy over his wife’s death, after having been so nice to her about her, just minutes before about childish behavior, she could only chalk the quick change in mood up to volatility. She had thought that night would have opened the door for them to behave like real neighbors, but the familiarity she’d assumed would exist after that night, had not.

She really didn’t want any more drama in her life when things had just calmed down for her and her family, so she’d just have to avoid Coach Negan at home. It wouldn’t be difficult to do. They’d managed to ignore each other every day when she walked down the yard and back up, before and after her daily swim. He always seemed to be on his deck at five o’clock, enjoying a beer and reading, or doing some type of work on his iPad when she headed outside for her workout. It had become comically obvious they didn’t look at each other, or heaven forbid wave or say hi, even though they saw each other every day, at least twice, across their yards. The problem was, they now had to work together in the same department, and worse, he was the department head, so there would be meetings, emails and sporting events which would force them to converse, and even be in the same vicinity on a regular basis. It is absolutely ridiculous she had to think so hard about how to deal with the man. Gigi decided she would march into his office on Monday morning and talk with him to see if they could move forward with a better working relationship.

___________

“It’s about time, Coach Sokolov,” Coach Negan greeted Gigi when she walked into his office at seven-fifteen on Monday morning. The new teacher had made a point to arrive an hour and forty five minutes early to talk to him, knowing he started football practice at seven thirty, even though cheerleading practice didn't start until nine o'clock.  “I take it your schedule is light enough this morning that you can grace me with your presence, since you were so busy you couldn’t meet me here on Friday as I’d requested.” He didn’t bother to look up as he talked to her, instead reviewing paperwork as he sat behind his desk.

 _He’s not going to make this easy._ Gigi tried to remain nonplussed as he goaded her in his annoyingly reasonable tone of voice. She smirked, since he hadn’t given her the courtesy of looking at her, and keeping her tone of voice light she tried to sound innocently perplexed as she responded, “Perhaps you didn’t notice I was holding cheerleading tryouts on Friday until four o’clock. I thought I mentioned the fact to you when you demanded I meet you in your office, as if I were a child.” _You jerk._ She put both hands on his desk, leaning in and forcing herself into his space to see if it would prompt him to look at her. It didn’t.  “Unfortunately, I couldn’t attend your impromptu meeting, but I did come looking for you when I was done for the day. By the time I packed up my gear and came to your office, you were gone.”

Negan dropped his pen on his desk and leaned back in his chair. Removing his reading glasses, he proceeded to chew lightly on the end of one of the earpieces. He studied the woman in front of him thoughtfully for a moment. _You wanna play games with me? Let’s play._ “Heh.” He slowly licked his bottom lip several times as he stewed about her response, finally starting, “Look Coach. There’s a way we run things here at Mount Vernon, and a way things are run in my phys ed department. I understand this is your first teaching job and there will be a learning curve for you. I’m assuming, since you used to dance with your husband, who was pretty much stuck with you, you haven’t had to learn to work and play well with others. That won’t fly here.”

 _No, he did_ **_not_ ** _just … 'Stuck with me'? Could he be any more offensive? I think he's confused about who in this room doesn’t work well with others._ Gigi knew she was starting to do the wide eyed, blinky thing which she always did when she was caught off guard, so she schooled her expression, purposely raising her right eyebrow at him as he continued his diatribe.

Negan leaned forward in his seat as he continued, putting his elbows on his desk to push back at her intrusion into his personal space. “We work as a team here, and when I feel there’s a problem, I may, in fact, call you into my office to discuss a better way to do things. When I do, I expect you to respect my request for a meeting. Since you have finally graced me with your presence when I only have a few minutes to talk to you before I have to be out on the field, I will tell you very quickly that in future, you need to come to me before you discipline my players, no matter how you’ve justified your actions in your own mind, and let me handle my boys. Thank you.” _She’s not wearing the citrusy, vanilla stuff today. This one’s softer_ . _Powdery, maybe? Doesn’t really fit her._  He put his reading glasses back on, signed the bottom of the paper he’d been reviewing and started to clean up his desk so he could head outside for tryouts, dismissing her without words.

 _Oh, no, no, no, Coach Negan. This is_ **_not_ ** _how this is going to go._ “Interesting.” She dropped her sarcastic, one word response on him while she formulated her reply, giving up her attempt to sound innocently perplexed, because he obviously liked to step on people who didn’t meet him on his own level. “Since we have a few minutes before you have to be outside, let’s talk about how I’m willing to work and play with others, Coach. I would have _respected_ your _request_ for a meeting, had you shown me respect instead of patronizing me by demanding my compliance in front of a room full of students.”

Her neighbor pursed his lips at her, noisily sucking air through his front teeth as she parroted his words again with disdain. “I also would have respected your request for a meeting,” Gigi informed him, “had you respected I was busy with tryouts, and respected my position as one which is as valuable as yours by picking a time when we both were free, instead of insisting I drop what I was doing and run with my tail between my legs, to your office.”

She watched the coach sit back in his chair once more, as he continued to study her, his head tilting to the side as he squinted at her, just as he’d done when she’d unloaded on him at her front door. _Excellent!_

“Furthermore,” she continued calmly, cutting him off when he opened his mouth to speak, “I prepared for this meeting by reading through the county’s employee handbook last night, because I wanted to be sure I understood both of our positions within our department. I was interested to find, Coach Negan, while the department head is responsible for the organization and oversight of the county curriculum for the phys ed department, it nowhere mentions you have the authority to make any kind of demands of me or my time, over and above what is required of other teachers in the department in order to institute said curriculum. Nor does it mention you have the right to dictate how students should or should not be disciplined by other members of the staff.”

Gigi was pleased to see Negan lean further forward, and while his countenance was the picture of serenity, she could see a tick in one of the taut muscles running down the side of his neck, belying his agitation. _He really has beautiful eyes. Those long eyelashes ..._

“Oh my,” the cheerleading coach suddenly declared dramatically as she looked at her watch. “It’s seven twenty nine. I don’t want to hold you up, Coach Negan, since I respect your position, your time, _and_ the kids who will be waiting for you outside. I’d better let you go, since we're finished here.” Turning on her heel before he had time to respond, she pulled opened the door to his office and walked out, shutting the door behind her with a bit of a slam.

Negan sat at his desk for another few minutes, trying to calm his anger towards the woman who’d just left. _What a rabid fucking bitch._

_I need to fuck her._

________

After taking a minute to calm his ass down, the football coach left his office to head out to the football field for practice, stewing over his meeting with Gigi. He didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with him, but he had a fucking love-hate thing going on with his neighbor in his mind. _More like a lust-hate thing, if I think about it. How the fuck could anyone love her crazy ass? Her husband must have either been a goddamn saint, or more than a little fucking crazy himself._

Of course he had admired her fine form from the minute he’d laid eyes on it in skimpy swimwear. What man wouldn’t? Ever since the night he’d first seen her dancing on the dock, though, and had conversed with her as he’d tended to her wounds, he’d been intrigued, and more than a little fucking smitten with her. When he’d held her delicate hand in his as he’d cleaned her cuts, and had gotten a whiff of her scent, which had tantalized him with the intensity of a bong hit full of pheromones, he’d suddenly found her captivating in a very different way. Negan had been surprised he’d found her close physical presence on the dock comforting, of all things. _What in the fuck is that even fucking about?_ _It makes no fucking sense at all._ He was no longer only attracted to her as a body he’d like to climb on top of, and a pussy he’d like to fuck. He now found her enticing. What had really done him in though, was how she had hung on his every word as he’d tended to her, as if his answers to her questions were of utmost importance to her and she would accept his wisdom with unconditional faith. It had stymied him, but he’d also found it more than a little fucking appealing.

Not at all like their time on the dock, their meeting in his office had been more like the first time they'd met, the day of her husband's wake; there had been a hefty amount of crazed, estrogen fueled ranting. When she’d initially started talking to him in his office, her ridiculous, innocent act had made him fucking fume, because he knew she was neither naive or confused, and it had pissed him off she was putting on the wide-eyed facade. He'd respected her more, once she’d done her one eighty and laid her acuity all over the fucking table in front of him, showing him what the fuck she was made of. He absolutely fucking loved, in his own, very twisted way, she’d told him in no uncertain terms she wasn’t going to lay down and take his shit, the shit he purposely threw at people to size them up, or to position them firmly under his thumb. Gigi had handed his shit back to him on a silver fucking platter, giving him a whole different kind of hard on for her, as it were.

People rarely challenged him, but Negan had always enjoyed it when someone tried. He would shut that shit down immediately with his intimidating presence and razor sharp tongue, showing the pathetic wanna be who the real fucking alpha was in their pack of two. Negan would cut them down in the blink of an eye, reminding them of their place.

This woman, though, this little thing dancing all the fuck into and over his world, was challenging him in a big fucking way. It was clear she wasn't trying to dominate, but instead was pushing back against his attempts to show her who was in charge and make her fall in line with the way he wanted his department run, whether the employee handbook fucking okayed it or not.  

Gigi was pissing him off, but he had to admit to himself she was also was bringing a little spark back into his life after months of fucking gloom. He was utterly fucking energized as he stepped onto the football field in front of his kneeling players. _Even so_ , Coach Negan thought to himself as he approached the teens, _she'd better learn to fucking jump when I tell her to jump._ The challenge for him would be to see if he could get inside her head, break her down and make her fall in line. The idea of it gave him a woody.

__________

Cheerleading practice had ended at four o’clock and Coach Sokolov was happy with how her day had gone. Marshall had informed her one of his new football friends was going to give him a ride, so she didn’t have to hurry to pack up to meet him after practice to take him home. She had dismissed the students and then laid on the gym floor on her stomach with her phone in front of her scribbling in a notebook as she played and replayed bars of popular songs on her phone, popping up intermittently to try out a series of moves she wanted to incorporate in her cheers for the squads. After getting lost in her choreography for a time, she noted it was almost six o’clock, so she began to put her things in her bag so she could finally go home and relax.

The day's practice had confirmed she’d chosen the perfect group of students for the her two cheerleading squads. There were some who had been on a squad since elementary school, when they’d cheered for the pee wee football league in their neighborhood, and many who’d started cheering in middle school. She’d also chosen a few diamonds in the rough, though. There were a handful of students she’d chosen for the junior varsity squad who had no previous cheerleading or dance experience but who could move. They picked up on her instruction quickly, and they were willing to work their butts off to keep up with those who were more experienced. Every coach wanted the best players for their teams. In the case of her cheerleaders, Gigi wanted those students who could be molded into the best in the state, and possibly even the nation.

Her squads were radically different than those in the group photos hanging in the trophy cases in the hallway outside Mount Vernon’s gym. The photos showed two squads full of skinny girls with long hair falling over their shoulders. In contrast, Gigi’s squads were different body types: tall, short, thin and stocky. Her squad members had long hair, short, dreads, and afros. She knew audiences were used to looking at a group of cheerleaders, the girl’s especially, who looked like those in the photos in the hallway. They expected cookie cutter Barbie dolls. Mount Vernon’s cheerleading coach was going to break from the norm, because she thought it would set a better example to have more diversity, and she was certain she could choreograph the girls, so their audiences would focus on the cheering and not on the teens’ looks.

Replaying her fantastic day in her mind, Gigi was also pleased with how she’d presented herself at her meeting with Coach Negan. She chuckled to herself as she thought about the tick in the muscle in his neck when she’d spelled out what she’d read in the employee handbook. Since she’d ended the meeting abruptly, to maintain control of the discussion, she had no idea how her future interactions with him would go. She just hoped he understood she wouldn’t let him bully her, especially in front of the students.

Looking around the gym as she packed up, she smiled as the shiny, lacquered, hardwood floor suddenly called to her. Other than dancing on the dock, which was limiting due to its slatted surface, and around her house, she hadn’t had the chance to truly dance in a long time. The large room, and the smooth floor were irresistible to her. Sitting down on the floor next to her duffel bag, she pulled off her athletic shoes and socks and pulled her ballet slippers out of her bag. Where most women carried athletic shoes to change into after they’d worn heels at work all day, the ballerina carried her ballet slippers in her bag to change into when she took her athletic shoes off. Today she wasn’t changing soley for comfort. She had been so distracted lately, she’d overlooked the exciting fact she would be working in a room which had a perfect floor, bigger than any she’d danced on alone. There would be times, especially before school started,  when she would have the big beautiful floor all to herself, so she could dance to her heart’s content.

Her excitement taking her over, Gigi jumped up from the floor and hurriedly stripped off her baggy Mount Vernon tee shirt and shorts to reveal her short, tank unitard underneath. Unitards were her casual dancewear of choice, and they conveniently doubled as an undergarment. For a flat chested woman like herself, she lamented, the spandex in it was enough to keep her puppies under firm control while she danced. Unitards were designed to stay in place, so there was no worry about unintentionally flashing someone.  Putting one on as soon as she dried off from a shower was habit formed years ago, and she rarely strayed from it. She had a few dozen of them in a variety colors.

Bending over, she unwrapped and rewrapped the ace bandage on her knee as tightly as she could tolerate it, for maximum support, wondering if her knee would allow her to dance the way she wanted to. She hoped the joint had a long enough break, while she was busy with Yuri’s care, to allow her let loose without paying a huge price during or after her workout.

Scrolling through her playlists on her phone, she laughed out loud when she finally came across the right song to fit her mood. She cranked up the volume on the speakers at the front of the room and moved into the middle of the floor to position herself. Gigi had found the perfect song for the big empty building which had no ears to judge her music choice. She and Negan were the only teachers working for another two weeks when all of the teachers would return, and since five o’clock had come and gone, she was sure he’d be at home on his deck. The office staff, who worked all summer, were at the other end of the building, and she’d been told they left for the day at three o’clock during the off season. She may not get the chance to dance like a wild woman again, so she was going to take full advantage. Moving one index finger to hit the play button on her music app. The music started with a scream and a heavy beat and Mount Vernon’s cheerleading coach felt the music and started to move, her laugh of delight drowned out by the noise.

_________

 _What a great fucking day_. Negan was ready to drop his ass into his Charger and head home. He needed a shower and a beer, not necessarily in that order. Sliding his iPad into his bag as he walked out of his office, he headed towards the door to the gym, just twenty feet down, across the hall, so he could cut through the room to get to the front door of the building faster.

A male voice yelling, _“Aaaaaaalll righhhht!”_ suddenly pierced the air, the sound of a heavy metal guitar riff and drum beat forcing their way into the hall through the crevices between the doors which lead out of the gym. _What the fuck?_ The music didn’t sound like something the cheerleading squad would perform to, so he was curious as to what was going on in the room. Pulling open one of the doors, he was accosted by pounding rock music and the sight of Gigi, inches upon inches of silky skin and sinew on display, dancing fervidly across the expanse of the room.

Negan stopped in his tracks, one foot in the hall, one in the gym. His ears finally caught up with his eyes, as he watched her move, and his lips curved into a lascivious smile as he finally discerned the lyrics to the blaring song he’d never heard before, but definitely fucking liked. _My kind of fucking song!_

 

_… Scream so loud, getting fuckin’ laid_

_You want me to stay, but I got to make my way_

 

_Hey_

_You’re crazy bitch_

_But you fuck so good, I’m on top of it_

_When I dream, I’m doing you all night_

_Scratches all down my back to keep me right on_  

 

 _Whaaaaaaaaaat the fuck? This is not fucking ballet … not with all of this hip grinding and titty shaking going on …_ Negan was mesmerized, watching Gigi move. No stiff legs, straight back, nose in the air, dancing today. No fucking sir.

 

_Take it off, the paper is your game_

_You jump in bed with fame_

_Another one night paid in full_

_You’re so fine, it won’t be a loss_

_Cashing in the rock, just to get you face to face_

 

 _Oh, fucking, my. Gigi._ The football coach repeated her name in his head, drawing it out, enjoying the fluid, sensual sound of its French pronunciation. _Gigi._ The ballerina was sex on fire, strutting, spinning, darting, vaulting, pounding her fists into her hips to the beat, bending at the waist and gyrating her ass into the air behind her, all to the hard rock beat of the song screaming through the air. _Fuuuuuuck, I want her to do that on my dick._

Gigi noticed Negan start through the door to the gym as she took off, sailing through the air in her favorite leap, soaring more than four foot above the ground, one leg extended forward, the other back. The grande jeté was effortless for her, after years of practice and performance, and she loved it because with it she could fly, if only for seconds. She followed it with eight turns on the beat, her upper arms parallel with the floor, forearms vertical, her hands clenched in fists as she spun across the floor like a top.

She pretended not to notice him standing in the doorway, because it felt so good to dance and she didn’t want any negative energy to bring her down. Frowning at the inconvenience, she toned down her dancing, avoiding the overtly sensual moves which the song had inspired. _Of course he’s ruining my vibe._ Hopefully he would take the long way around the gym, via the hallway, instead of walking through her dance space … _Nope ..._ _No such luck._ After watching her for a bit longer, the jerk started on a diagonal path through the middle of the gym floor, not bothering to do the polite thing and stay close to the wall so he wouldn’t get in her way.

 

_Hey_

_You’re crazy bitch_

_But you fuck so good, I’m on top of it_

_When I dream, I’m doing you all night_

_Scratches all down my back to keep me right on_  

 

Finally remembering he was pissed at her, hot as all fucking get out or not, Negan started across the gym, deciding to walk right the fuck through the middle of her dance floor. _You wanna dance, you’re going to have dance the fuck around me._

The song started to sound frenzied with a guitar solo and chanting lyrics, as Gigi danced into her neighbor’s personal space for several beats before bounding away from him. His decision to walk to walk through her dance space gave her permission to get in his face, as far as Gigi was concerned, to let him know she could hold her own in this battle he’d created by walking into the middle of her dance. She wasn’t going to let his presence slow her down, or keep her from dancing exactly where she wanted.

 

_Get the video_

_Fuck you so good_

 

Flying towards him with a series of leaps and turns, she watched his eyes widen as she pivoted at the last second, inches in front of him, then twirled around him at high speed, so close he would be able to feel the breeze she was creating. Her dancing was as frenzied as the music, while her moves remained precise, and they caused their intended response. She smirked slyly at the man in front of her as she forced him to stop walking and back up a step, out of concern he’d run into her.

 

_Get the video_

_Fuck you so good_

 

Negan continued forward, determined not to break his stride again. _Let her fucking run into me._

Gigi couldn’t stop him again, but she definitely slowed his pace as she danced around and in front of him, ignoring him one minute, giving him a cocky grin then next. When he was only twenty feet from the exit doors which would take him out of her reach, she charged him from behind, using a gentle grip on his shoulder to help launch her into the air so she landed between him and the doors, about ten feet in front of him.

Once again the music changed, and the lead singer, sounding as if he was wrecked from a tumble with his woman, repeated his words of endearment. She stood, breathing heavily from her workout, her right hip pulsing upward on each beat as she stared the football coach down.

 

_Crazy bitch._

_Crazy bitch._

_Crazy … bitch._

 

The music shifted back into high gear, and Gigi began to turn on the ball of her left foot, her right leg parallel to the ground, toes pointed. She turned again and again, matching the song’s pace and intensity.

 

_Baby girl_

_You want it all_

_To be a star_

_You’ll have to go down._

 

Negan knew he should plow right by her, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as the dancer continued to turn in front of him, keeping eye contact with him as much as possible as she whipped around. He was fascinated by the way she used centrifugal force to turn faster, sometimes moving her raised foot into her other knee, then down towards her ankle to speed up her movement, as a figure skater would do. The closer the raised foot and leg were to the other, the faster she spun.

 

_Take it off_

_No need to talk_

_You’re crazy_

_But I like the way you fuck me_

 

Gigi came out of her final turn on the last line of the song, and forcefully arcing her head forward and down, she flipped her legs into the air so they flew up and over her head and torso, towards the man standing in front of her, without her hands touching the ground. She completed her aerial, landing one foot, then the other, three feet in front of him.

 _I really am going to have to fuck her. Soon._ Negan ran his tongue between his teeth as he involuntarily nodded in appreciation of her show. The show she’d performed for him alone, to his new favorite song. The room was suddenly quiet, except for Gigi’s breathing, and Negan broke the silence, keeping his tone of voice casual. “Nice song. ‘Crazy Bitch’? Is that your theme song?” he inquired seriously, digging at her as he looked pleased with himself for the barb.

Genuinely laughing, Gigi turned to pick up her bag a few feet away, and headed through the doors, into the hallway, calling over her shoulder, “I actually thought of you when I came across the title in one of my playlists. See you tomorrow, Coach! Do you mind hitting the lights for me, please?” She did a little victory dance when the door closed behind her, knowing she’d won today’s go rounds with the department head, reveling in the picture of the expression he’d worn as he nodded at her after she’d landed in front of him at the end of the song. She practically skipped to her car to head home.

 _Very soon._ Negan wrinkled his nose and gave a little head to shudder as he thought about what he’d like to do to Coach Sokolov, when he finally got the chance. Because he _would_ get the chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crazy Bitch - Buckcherry
> 
> Thoughts so far, my Negan loving friends?  
> Thanks for stopping by!


	7. Call Me Governor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cheerleading coach waited for Negan's response, wondering what she would do if he and the principal insisted she put Penny on her varsity squad. It wasn’t a good sign he almost looked conflicted as he started to speak. “Look, Gigi, I’d love to be able to tell you the man’s money isn’t as important as making the point that his daughter is a royal bitch. I’d love to fucking stand on your moral high ground with you to keep her off your squad, but my track is falling apart. Blake’s money is what is going to buy us a new one, since the county can’t fit it into the budget for another five years. If we don’t resurface, my buddy Simon’s track team falls apart when they have no place to practice, and his two dozen students lose their sports team."

_“Prick!”_ Negan greeted the Mount Vernon’s principal enthusiastically after answering the phone in his office early Thursday morning. “Finally decided you’d give up jacking off for the summer and come back to work like the rest of us?”

“What can I say, Negan? My wrist was getting sore.” Rick Grimes drawled in his Georgia accent, pleased with his own quick comeback. He knew the man wanted to get a rise out of him, and he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. He’d been working with the football coach for many years, and he’d learned early on the man had more respect for those who held their own in a conversation with him. If he let the coach get a rise out of him, Negan would become relentless, poking and prodding, trying to push him over the edge into a blow up. It was as if he got a kick out of watching a person fume, and being the source of the aggravation.  

The principal’s response actually made the coach laugh out loud. “What can I do for you this fine fucking morning?” Negan inquired, getting down to business. It was seven twenty, and he needed to get out onto the football field with his newly chosen team. Their first game was coming up in a few weeks, and he was feeling a sense of urgency about whipping the teens into shape. He would not be fucking happy if his team lost the first game of the season, especially since they were playing West Potomac, Mount Vernon’s biggest rivals.

“I got a call from Philip Blake this morning,” the principal briefed him.

The coach groaned at the news, inquiring, “What the fuck does he want?” He couldn’t stand the asshole, finding him arrogant and pushy. Blake had attended University of Maryland a few years after he had, and three of his kids were, or had been students at Mount Vernon. His son had played football until he’d graduated a few years before, so Blake seemed to think he and the football coach had a kinship of sorts as a result of their commonalities. Negan only tolerated the man because he donated a lot of fucking money to the high school’s athletic department. The money was sorely needed to replace outdated equipment and supplement the budgets for their various sports teams. The coach had played on the lawyer’s perception of their buddy-buddy relationship a few times over the last several years, calling the district attorney to chat about the phys ed department’s needs. Blake always donated based on Negan’s suggestions, so in return for donations, the coach had played nice with the man, pulling strings with a buddy at U of M for premium seats to Terrapins games and making sure Peter Blake was first string on Mount Vernon’s varsity team when the teen had played for them, even though he was a mediocre player, at best. The football coach’s efforts had been worthwhile, garnering a newly refurbished gymnasium and an assload of brand spanking new equipment.

“He was calling to let me know he would be here at nine o’clock this morning, and he wanted to meet with both of us. He’s griping about the fact his daughter Penny wasn’t chosen for the cheerleading squad this year, and complaining the new coach didn’t treat her fairly. You know anything about the matter?” Grimes inquired, hoping for some information to work with at the meeting.

“No, I don’t,” Negan was unaware the leader of the Mean Girls didn’t make the cut, since he didn’t give a flying fuck. “But I’ll find out the story before nine.”  Little did Coach Sokolov realize, she was stirring up some shit in his department, and not only with the department head. He needed to fill her in on the importance of keeping Philip Blake happy. He was fairly certain he knew exactly what her response would be, and it wasn’t going to be pretty. He hung up with the principal, pissed his morning’s schedule was going to be fucked up by the meeting with Blake.

Negan headed out of his office, walking the two doors down to the Gigi’s office. Taking in the cluster fuck of decorations on her door, he rolled his eyes at the brightly colored girly ass flower and heart wall decals she’d stuck all the fuck over it, along with a dry erase board at eye level which had “I’m in!” written in hot pink marker on it, with a tiny heart dotting the “i” and the exclamation point. _Jesus Christ._

The sound of his neighbor’s laughter floated through the door, and he cocked his ear toward the sound, trying to recognize the male voice laughing along with Gigi’s as he knocked.

“Come in!” he heard his neighbor call from inside before breaking out in laughter once more. The football coach opened the door, surprised to find Merle sitting in a chair across from the cheerleading coach, while she sat behind her desk. He had a carry-out cup of coffee in his hand, as did Gigi, and they were leaning towards each other, elbows on her desk, chuckling as if they were sharing the latest gossip.

 _What the fuck is this about?_ “Sorry for interrupting your coffee klatch,” Negan jibed before turning to his buddy. “Don’t you have some fucking work to do?”

Gigi raised her eyebrows at Merle, as if to ask him if he was going to put up with the coach’s attitude. Grinning at her, he retorted, “Oh, that’s right! Ya asked me to hunt ya up some Midol for your chronic PMS. Sorry. I forgot.”

“Fuck off,” Negan responded, holding the door open with one hand while swinging his other arm grandly, gesturing for the groundskeeper to leave. Gigi stifled a giggle at the men’s antics, as she wondered what the department head wanted with her, since he obviously wasn’t looking for his friend.

“So we’re good?” Merle turned back to her to finish up their conversation, nodding as if prompting her to say yes.

“Yes, we’re good, Merle, as long as you don’t try to make a fool out of me again,” She raised one eyebrow at the groundskeeper as she scolded him. He had brought her coffee as an apology after he’d kept the football coach’s identity from her, her first day of work. She really wasn’t worked up about his prank, but he’d looked so apologetic when he entered her office she had decided it might be fun to make him squirm a little bit. It had been.

“Good,” he smirked, smacking two fingers lightly on the desk as he got up to leave. “Screw you, asshole,” he said goodbye to his friend without looking at him, walking out the door and closing it behind him.

“You guys are close, huh?” Gigi laughed, gesturing to the seat Merle had vacated, sitting back in her chair and taking a drink of her coffee before setting the cup on her desk. She rubbed at the wounds on her right hand with her left thumb, something she seemed to do often since she'd had her stitches removed, trying to work out the stiffness in the scarred skin.

“ _Obviously_ ,” Negan replied as if the question were ridiculous, making her chuckle again.

“Do I need to get out my boxing gloves, or will this be a civil conversation?” Gigi kept her tone light, while letting the department head know she didn’t want to start another day off by fighting with him.

“Let’s try for civil,” he suggested as if he wasn't sure it was possible. "We'll see how it goes." Sitting down across from her, he looked around her office. She had decorated the room, a royal blue shag area rug on the floor, light, gauzy fabric draped along the wall full of windows behind her desk to hide the ugly rolling shades which were standard in all of the school’s offices. To her right was a comfortable looking loveseat with brightly colored throw pillows, and she’d hung large, framed ballet posters on the light blue cinder block walls. He recognized the pussified Baryshnikov guy rehearsing with Gigi in one of the framed prints. They were in a studio setting, wearing casual dance clothes. The other poster was a photo of the Sokolovs during a performance. Yuri had obviously just launched his wife into the air, his arms above his shoulders, still raised in their trajectory. Gigi was spinning in the air above his hands, her body horizontal to the floor, and the photographer had caught her as she faced the camera. “So, what’s it feel like to fly?” Negan asked her, pointing his index and middle fingers at the poster on the wall.

“It’s amazing!” she replied, excitement in her voice as she looked at the photo. She smiled for a moment before she turned to look at him, sharing, “There’s nothing like it.” She had a sparkle in her eye as she gushed her response, shaking her head for emphasis.

“You must have to trust the fuck out of someone to let them toss you around like that,” he mused as he studied the photo once more.

“You do,” she answered simply. “But even when you trust them they drop you."

“Seriously?” Negan’s head whipped back around to her, concern obvious on his face.

Gigi smiled at his surprise before affirming, “Seriously. I ended up with a sprained wrist, and a broken collarbone after being dropped by my husband on different occasions. She shook her head at the memory of Yuri, beside himself because his mistakes had caused her harm.

 _Dumb ass dropped her? Stupid fuck. You throw her up, you catch her. How hard can it be?_ “You miss dancing?” _What the fuck is wrong with me, asking her all this personal shit that’s none of my fucking business?_

Gigi was surprised by his questions and his concern, and studied the enigma in front of her for a moment before revealing softly, “Very much. I almost feel like I’ve been lost for the last few years. Dancing was my whole world." Looking once more at the photo on the wall, her corners of her mouth quirked up for a few seconds before they dropped into a frown. "I went from a life immersed in dance, to living on the outside, and it’s been a hard adjustment. I miss it every day.” She frowned as she studied the coffee cup in front of her, deep in thought, before correcting herself wistfully,  “I long for it every single day.” She suddenly looked up at her neighbor wide eyed, startled by her own honesty, and she pulled herself out of her reverie. “I know you didn’t come to hear my talk about myself. What can I do for you?”

Negan could see she was embarrassed she’d opened up to him, but he kind of fucking liked it. _I wanna know all the fucking secrets she doesn’t tell anyone else._ “It’s a shame you had to give it up,” he sympathized before changing the subject. He filled her in on the phone call from Penny Blake’s father, and his meeting with the man at nine o’clock. “Why didn’t she make the squad this year?” he inquired.

“There were quite a few reasons," Gigi started. "She was late for tryouts, she hadn’t fully learned the routine which had been posted in advance on the school site, despite the fact I specifically posted the kids should be ready to perform it in full. She had a bad attitude and she and her friends made a point of belittling and body shaming several of the other students for all to hear. In the end I felt she would be a detriment to the squad, and in all honesty there were kids who were on time, prepared, supportive of others, _and_ had a great attitude all day, despite the fact I worked them to the point of exhaustion.” Gigi rattled off the long list of Penny’s offenses before adding, “ _And_ she rolled her eyes at me so many times I was ready to spit!”

It amused the football coach how the volume of her voice rose a bit with each point she made, and by the time she was finished listing off the girl’s offenses, the ballerina was exuding an attitude which would rival Penny Blake’s. “That bad, huh?” he goaded her. “That it would make you want to spit? Did it make you want to curse a little bit, too?” He raised his eyebrows at her as if he was genuinely concerned about her upset.

Cocking her head at him, Gigi folded her arms over her chest, feigning being perturbed while asking, “Are you making fun of me, Negan?” She was enjoying their banter, wishing they could interact this way all of the time.

“Yes, I fucking am,” he deadpanned, making her laugh again, melting her agitation over the matter. “Do you know who Penny’s father is, Gigi?” His tone was serious as he questioned her.

“Carol filled me in,” she informed him. “I’m not impressed, even if I am holding practices in the Philip H. Blake gymnasium.”

“You may not be impressed, but you need to realize what pissing him off could mean for the school. The phys ed department and our sports teams have been underfunded for the last decade. Without the district attorney’s yearly donations, we’d have to make serious cuts in the department.” Negan paused for a moment, before getting to the crux of the problem. “Blake is an arrogant prick. He’s going to come into this meeting demanding Penny be put back on the cheerleading squad, and he's going to expect compliance in exchange for this year's donation.”

Gigi nodded at him thoughtfully before questioning, “Who has the ultimate authority in the matter, Coach?” She was questioning if he and Principal Grimes were going to force her to work with Penny Blake, whether the girl was worthy of a position on the squad, or not. More important, she was asking if they were going to invalidate her in the eyes of Philip Blake, his daughter, and the other students on the squad.

After a minute of silence, Negan leaned forward in his chair, trying to read her, and contemplating how to answer her question. It would absolutely fucking suck if he had to fuck her over for a thirty thousand dollar donation, because then he’d never get into her fucking panties. The school’s running track was crumbling, though, and he’d found a contractor, a former Mount Vernon alumni who was willing to cut them a serious break on the cost of resurfacing.

The cheerleading coach waited for his response, wondering what she would do if he and the principal insisted she work with Penny. It wasn’t a good sign her neighbor almost looked conflicted as he started to speak. “Look, Gigi, I’d love to be able to tell you the man’s money isn’t as important as making the point that his daughter is a royal bitch. I’d love to fucking stand on your moral high ground with you to keep her off your squad, but my track is falling apart. Blake’s money is what is going to buy us a new one, since the county can’t fit it into the budget for another five years.  If we don’t resurface, my buddy Simon’s track team falls apart when they have no place to practice, and his two dozen students lose their sports team." Gigi nodded her head in understanding as he went on, "I know four of his kids are counting on college athletic scholarships for their performance in track this year, and they’ll lose their fucking chance if the track program folds. So while I’d love to tell Philip Blake he can go fuck himself, you know the truth. Just like me. It would be hard to throw away thirty thousand, sorely needed dollars.” He shook his head in frustration as he lamented, “Christ, you would think the fucking county would throw money at us, since my department hasn’t spent all of the small amount of money we’ve been allotted for the last several years, thanks to Blake’s donations. But they keep telling me there’s no money in the budget.”

Gigi could hear the frustration and passion in his voice as he spoke about his department’s need for Mr. Blake’s donations and his concern for the kids in need of scholarships, but she could also hear his conflict over forcing Penny on her, which surprised her, especially since they had been at odds since the moment they’d met. She would have expected him to tell her she would have to suck it up and live with the Mean Girl on her squad. It was clear he agreed with her points, but it all came down to the almighty dollar. “How does Principal Grimes feel about the matter?”

“He’s in the same place I am about this,” Negan informed her. He leaned on the desk as he admitted softly, “Don’t think we don’t realize what this means for you, Gigi. How it will make you look when she suddenly shows up for cheerleading practice after not making the squad … what it’ll do to the morale of your squad.”  He stared at her, as if he wanted to say more, but he remained silent.

“So it’s pretty much a done deal in your mind, that Penny will be on my varsity squad?” she challenged him without malice.

“I don’t see a way around it.” The department head admitted, “Do you?” Negan was surprised she wasn’t fighting him on the matter. He gave her points for being a realist.

Negan was startled when she suddenly sat up straight, all business as she announced, “I have some phone calls I need to make before things get rolling at nine o’clock.” To his annoyance, she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and tapped on the screen a few times before putting the device to her ear, obviously waiting for someone to pick up on the other end. After a few seconds she gushed into it, “Jessica? Hi, it’s Gigi Sokolov. _Hiiii!_ ... I _know!_ It _has_ been too long. I miss seeing you and DeeDee!” she prattled into the phone before asking, “I’m sorry, Jess, can I ask you to hold for one sec?” She lowered the phone to her lap as she looked back at Negan where he sat across from her with his fingers entwined on the desktop. Leaning forward, she reached out with her free hand and gently tapped the back of his hand with her index finger before resting it there. “I want you to know I hear your dilemma, Negan, and I understand why you feel you have no recourse other than to concede to Philip Blake, but as you know, I’m not the kind of woman who goes down quietly when she’s challenged by an arrogant, strong willed man.”

The football coach huffed out a laugh when she winked at him and raised her phone back to her ear, apologizing to the woman on the other end of the call, “Sorry to make you wait. Do you have a minute to talk?”

While Negan appreciated the fact she understood why the school needed to work with Philip Blake, he was curious as to what the fuck she thought she was going to do about the matter. He was more than a little fucking miffed she needed to make some personal fucking phone calls before her cheerleading practice started at nine, and had ended their meeting before she could explain herself. _Fuck, she’s a piece of work._

___________

Walking to the administration office an hour later, Negan replayed his conversation with Gigi, in his mind. He’d been surprised she hadn’t gone all crazy on him at the idea Penny would be forced onto her varsity cheerleading squad, bad attitude or not. While he was grateful for what seemed to be acceptance of the matter, he was still pissed at the way the meeting had ended, trying to figure out what she meant when she said she wouldn’t go down quietly when challenged by a strong willed man. He took a minute to contemplate whether she would go down quietly on his strong willed cock. _Or would she moan? Would she make little mewling noises? Would she sputter and gag on my dick as I pump it in and out of the back of her throat?_ He gave a little head to toe shudder at the thought, before adjusting himself by palming the outside of his pants in the empty hallway outside the main office, then heading inside _._

“Olivia!” he greeted the stocky, dark haired woman at the front desk as she hung up at the end of a phone call. He walked around behind her, leaning down to whisper in her ear, enjoying the way she trembled in both fear and excitement at the feeling of his breath on her neck. “Would you be a lamb and get me some lemonade? I know I saw some of that good stuff in the vending machine in the faculty lounge.”

“Y-Yes, Coach,” she stuttered, quickly glancing at him out of the corner of her eye when he stayed in position, close to her ear, for several seconds after he’d finished speaking.

He made sure his breath tickled the sensitive skin under her ear as he pulled a fiver out of his wallet and handed it to her over her shoulder. “Get one for yourself, too, doll. My treat.”

“Th … th-th … thank …” the woman finally gave up her attempt to be polite, and huffed in exasperation, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose with her index finger. Negan chuckled as he stepped back and watched the receptionist stumble up out of her chair and down the hall in the direction of the vending machine.

Heading down the hall to Rick’s office, he slowed when he heard the sound of Philip Blake’s smarmy voice. The asshole clearly wasn’t talking to the principal. “Just call me Governor, sweetheart. Everyone does, since it looks like I’m a shoo in for the election in November.” _Sweetheart? Who the fuck is he calling sweetheart?_ It dawned on him the cheerleading coach had invited herself to the meeting. _Ahh, fuck. What the fuck is she up to?_

Entering the office, the football coach found Rick sitting behind his desk, Gigi and Blake occupying the two chairs across from him. As he approached the District Attorney, the man immediately stood to greet him with a smile and a hand shake, slapping him on the upper arm. “How the hell are you, Negan?”

“Busier than a one armed pimp at a bitch slapping contest, Philip,” Negan quipped. “Getting ready for the first game of the season.”

“Oh, yeah? How’s the team looking since Peter left?”

 _Much fucking better, asshole._ “You know we actually are looking pretty damn good this year, surprisingly, even without your boy.” Negan had never had it in him to kiss Blake’s ass, but he did get a huge fucking kick out of feeding the man line after line of bullshit, and watching him eat up every word.

As he spoke, he moved towards a third, empty chair against the wall beside Rick’s desk, to take a seat, watching Gigi subtly move forward to the edge of her chair while the attorney had his back to her, turning her body, and leaning slightly towards the man before he sat back down. _Getting all the fuck up in his space._ Negan cocked an eyebrow at her, and she winked in response as Blake was busy settling back in his chair.

“So, should we get this meeting started? I have a meeting in DC in an hour, and you know how traffic and parking can be,” Philip explained once he was seated, turning to the woman next to him.

“Yes, please,” Gigi responded before Principal Grimes or Negan had a chance. “I know we are cutting into the middle of Coach Negan’s football practice, and cheerleading practice normally starts right now, so hopefully we can make this quick.” Her request was more of a demand, letting the man know he wasn’t the only one with commitments. It was a demand coated in sugar as she smiled at him with a tilt of her head. “I understand you have some questions about why Penny wasn’t chosen for one of the cheerleading squads?” she added, her voice expressing genuine concern.

 _Oh, Gigi. Look at fucking you, getting right to the fucking point._ She hadn’t even been invited to the fucking meeting, Negan mused, but she had managed to take it over before it even started. He remembered her husband’s quote in the article he’d read, about how she was the powerhouse when it came to business. She was clearly not kowed by Blake’s status, used to working with the rich and famous. Despite her petite frame, her presence was huge, and her body language let Phillip know, in a non-threatening way, she wasn’t intimidated by him. Her elbow rested on her chair’s armrest nearest him, putting her closer to the man, and she crossed her far leg over the one closest to him, in a gesture which intimated she was comfortable with him in her space.

Her brown eyes looked right into Philip’s as she spoke, her face only a few feet away from his. It was clear to everyone in the room she was nothing but earnest. The football coach and the principal looked at each other, giving a nod to signal their approval of her taking control of the meeting. As unassuming as she was, it was clear they had no choice in the matter. For the time being, Coach Sokolov would be in charge, which made the other coach, the one who was used to always being in charge, more than a little fucking nervous.

The politician shifted in his seat as he held his ground with Gigi’s intrusion into his space. It was very subtle, but Negan could see his internal debate as to whether he should back away from her. In the end he decided against it, making the coach smirk to himself.

“Yes, I do, Coach Sokolov,” Blake affirmed, as Gigi listened with avid interest. “Penny came home from cheerleading tryouts very upset she hadn’t made the squad this year. I told her I was sure there must be some misunderstanding which can be rectified. It seemed odd to me she didn’t make the cut, especially considering the fact she held the position of captain for the last two years, on Coach Daniels’ squad.”

Negan caught Gigi’s eye as the man spoke, and he raised his eyebrows in question, suddenly very concerned about what her response would be. The coach had expected to placate Blake quickly to ensure his donation to the school, and then figure out a way to put Penny back on the varsity squad without undermining Gigi’s authority. He didn’t want to get fucked in the ass because he’d relinquished control of their gathering.

Gigi held her neighbor’s eye as she started to speak, before dragging her eyes back to Philip’s. “Unfortunately, there was no misunderstanding, Mr. Blake. I had my pick of exceptional candidates, and Penny’s performance at tryouts didn’t meet up to those of the majority of other students." She looked perplexed as she added, "Knowing your daughter had headed the varsity squad in previous years, I was surprised her performance was suboptimal. In the end, there was no way I could choose her for either of the squads, when the other students’ performances and work ethics were better.”

 _Fuck it all to fucking fuck, Coach Sokolov. Way to royally fucking fuck me over. God fucking damnit._ Negan shifted in his seat, trying to catch her eye, to warn her against further criticism of Penny.

“Work ethic?” the DA narrowed his eyes at Gigi’s explanation, obviously not happy with her response.

“Yes,” the cheerleading coach replied, calmly listing off Penny’s tardiness, lack of preparedness, and general disrespect. She made sure to keep her tone neutral, avoiding showing any upset with the teen’s behavior. “Perhaps she was having a bad day,” the coach touched the DA’s arm, trying to soften her criticism, by suggesting the girl’s performance may have been atypical.  “As you can imagine, it would be hard for me to select her over the students who were respectful to myself and others, and knew the routine in full. In the real world you only get one shot, and rarely are there exceptions. Penny didn’t display any sort of passion or desire to be on Mount Vernon’s cheerleading squads. It was more the opposite, in fact.”

“ _My_ understanding is,” the attorney challenged her, "you ran your tryouts like a Broadway audition. Do you really think it’s fair to a group of teenagers, to hold them to standards to which they’re not accustomed? This isn’t Broadway, Misses Sokolov. It’s high school.” The politician was getting more and more agitated the longer the conversation went on, cracks forming in his charming facade.

“I don’t know what ‘fair’ would have to do with it, Mr. Blake,” Gigi retorted calmly. The coach remained unphased by his criticism of her methods. “At the high school level we’re trying to prepare students for the real world, aren’t we? If Penny were interviewing for college, or a job, would she get a second chance if she showed up unprepared, and didn’t meet the level of the other people interviewing for the same position?”

Negan looked at her incredulously. _Is she fucking kidding me? She knows how this asshole operates._ His neighbor was smart enough to realize Blake could pay Penny’s way into any position his little girl desired. _Oh shit. She is fucking backing him into a goddamn corner._

Gigi knew the real answer to her question, but she also knew there was no way the man would be foolish enough to admit his daughter's mediocrity would be ignored if opened his wallet. Penny absolutely _would_ get a second chance, or her poor performance would be overlooked, as long as her daddy continued to grease wheels and palms for her. It made the coach sad to think the man would encourage her to rely on his money and power, instead of encouraging his daughter to excel, so she could make her own way.

“When I was Penny’s age I was auditioning and dancing for the New York City Ballet, and the expectations were much higher than what I required of our students at tryouts last week. I wouldn’t expect them to perform at a level I personally wasn’t capable of at their age, Mr. Blake.”

Again, Penny’s father wouldn’t be able to contradict the coach, because to do so would also mean admitting his daughter couldn’t meet up to the standards the coach herself had met in high school. While Negan was impressed with the wily woman sitting across the room, his own agitation was growing by the minute, along with Blake's. It was clear the only way he would be able to save his donation was going to mean contradicting and invalidating the cheerleading coach, which he had wanted to avoid. He was fucking pissed she’d decided to take her current tact with the politician, after their discussion in her office, an hour before.

A muffled notification chime sounded, and Philip pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, staring at Gigi with narrowed eyes for several seconds before he finally apologized, “Pardon me. Duty calls,” before viewing a message on its screen and starting to type a response.  

Gigi had sensed Negan’s growing aggravation when he'd shifted in his seat several times while she and Philip had spoken. She finally looked at her neighbor, knowing he wasn’t going to be happy with her. He was obviously angry, his brow furrowed and his jaw clenching and unclenching as he stared at her. She shifted her gaze to the principal while Blake was busy with his phone.

Negan's anger grew when a look passed between Gigi and Grimes, the woman cocking her head slightly towards her neighbor just before Philip dropped his phone back in his jacket pocket and looked up, ready to resume the meeting.  The football coach leaned forward in his seat, about to chime in to try and move the meeting back in the direction it needed to go, when he saw the principal subtly raise a palm in his direction, behind his desk, a signal to stop him from interjecting, his eyes imploring him to remain quiet. Sitting beside Rick’s desk, the coach could see the gesture, while the two people in front of the desk could not. _What the shit? What the shit!_

Philip Blake was obviously tired of letting the cheerleading coach one up him. When he looked back up at Gigi, he was in no way trying to hide his anger with her. She was taken aback at what she could only describe as loathing, in his eyes. She held her ground physically, despite her impulse to back out of his space, and hid her shock at his expression.

“I honestly find it hard to believe, after three years of outstanding performance with the cheerleading squads, my daughter suddenly lost her way, Coach Sokolov. What I more suspect is your tryout process was flawed. If you’re smart, you’ll admit you made a mistake, and reconsider placing Penny in the position of head cheerleader for the varsity squad.”

“I’m sorry, Mister Blake, but I simply can’t justify putting Penny on my varsity squad.”  Her emphasis on the word “my” was subtle, it was clear she was taking full responsibility for turning down his request, trying to leave the principal and the head of the department out of the matter.

From where he sat against the wall, Negan was watching the school’s track program crash, and go up in flames, and he was sure his head was going to fucking explode right along with it.

Philip Blake was smiling at Gigi, but his smile was ugly and false, his eyes filled with anger. “I’m sorry to hear that, Coach Sokolov.” He shook his head before looking back and forth between the other two men in the room. “You gentlemen have nothing to say in this matter?”

“Mister Blake, I have to defer to head of the cheerleading program. I can’t, in good conscience, override her authority in the matter. I trust her judgement,” the principal informed him.

“Heh,” Penny’s father looked at each person in the room, one by one, his edgy demeanor suddenly shifting back to smiling and friendly, as he had been at the beginning of their meeting. Standing up, he abruptly announced, “I need to get going.” He started to head out of the office but stopped, turning to look at Gigi with a charming smile. “It was nice to meet you, Coach  Sokolov.” His grin turned into a look of concern as he added, “I was sorry to hear about your husband, Yuri. My wife is … well was ... a big fan of you and your husband. We saw you dance at the Kennedy Center five years ago. Beautiful performance.”

“Thank you,” she responded, trying to hide her confusion at the sudden turn of the conversation.

“Suicide wasn’t it?” the district attorney questioned her. “It’s funny, in a case like his, how things aren’t always as they appear on the surface. My understanding is his friends and family were surprised he took his own life. Said it wasn’t like the Yuri they knew.” He cocked his head to the side as he studied Gigi as if he was deep in thought.

“I think we were all shocked,” she admitted softly, standing up so she could more easily look him in the eye. His discussion of the personal details of her husband’s death when he barely knew her was inconsiderate, and boorish. Bringing the matter up in front of her colleagues was unconscionable. He was clearly trying to unnerve her, but what he was hedging at, she didn’t know.

Negan watched one corner of the man’s mouth quirk upward as if he were trying to hide a smile. The fucker was enjoying digging at the widow to see if he could unnerve her and reestablish dominance. The coach knew the game well, since he, himself was the fucking master of it. As pissed as he was at Gigi, he wasn’t going to let the shithead bully her about her husband’s death. It was still too raw for her, and hit too close to home for the football coach coach. He didn’t know what the fuck he was thinking when he stepped between the asshole and his neighbor and calmly reminded the prick, “You said you had to go, Philip?” letting the man know someone was watching out for the woman he was trying to break down.

Finally dragging his eyes away from Gigi’s, Blake turned to Negan, letting out a small huff before he walked from the room. Negan moved to follow him, hoping he could salvage the track team from it’s now impending demise. _Fuck!_ As he turned to go, he felt a gentle touch on his forearm.  

“Negan, I …”

The cheerleading coach's expression was full of concern when he turned to look at her, but not about Blake and his digs about her husband. His neighbor rubbed his arm with her thumb as her fingers gently wrapped around it, and she looked up at him, worry in her eyes. Worry about what his response would be to the outcome of the meeting. He found her concern incredibly fucking amusing, livid at how she'd dicked him over. _Fuck you and your concern._

“ _Don’t!”_ he cut across her with a lowly growl, so as not to be heard outside of the office. Jerking his arm away from her, he hurried after Penny’s father. “Philip!” Gigi and Rick heard in the distance as the football coach obviously tried to catch the man’s attention before he left.

“I’ll talk to him, Gigi,” the principal reassured her. “I can try to catch him during his lunch hour and explain everything.”

“Thank you, Rick, but I’d better handle it. This is my mess. I need to fix it.” Negan was angry with her because in his mind, she’d just orchestrated the end of his buddy’s track team, and athletic scholarships for some of Mount Vernon’s students. Things weren’t as they seemed, luckily, but she suspected even the best of outcomes for the track program wouldn’t necessarily assuage the football coach’s anger towards her. _Call it a hunch._ She shook her head at the prospect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, any words of encouragement are greatly appreciated. Thank you all for stopping by!


	8. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was royally pissing him off he had such a huge, constant fucking hard on for a woman who was turning out to be the bane of his fucking existence.

 

 

 **4:45 PM**      **Carol**

_How bad was it?_

 

**4:46**

_Red face,_

_bulging vein on_

_his forehead.  :(_

 

**4:47     Carol**

_Oooooh. That’s bad, Gigi_ **.**

 

**4:48     Carol**

_Guttural, husky voice?_

_Looked like he was snarling?_

 

**4:49**

_Yes!!!!!_

 

**4:50    Carol**

_You’re lucky he left_

_the room. Steer_

_clear of him for_

_a few months_  :-D

 

**4:51**

_Sure. That’ll be_

_easy to do. :(_

 

**4:52     Carol**

_:0D_

_ttyl_

 

The two women had started their conversation talking on the phone, Gigi describing how her meeting that morning with Philip Blake, Principal Grimes and Negan had played out, but a few minutes into the discussion Carol had hurriedly announced her husband Ed was home, and she needed to go, ending the conversation abruptly. Several minutes later Gigi’s friend had continued the conversation via text, and they had gone back and forth for five minutes, Gigi was sure, because Ed was in the shower. Her friend had probably been texting while putting dinner on the table, and it was obvious his shower was now finished, since her friend had disappeared from the conversation suddenly.

Carol had confided, years ago, Ed was always cranky when he got home from work, and expected dinner to be on the table when he got out of the shower. She had made excuses for him, blaming his daily foul mood on a job he hated. Gigi had noticed, however, the man’s dinnertime crankiness, and the way Carol could never talk while her husband was home, were only two of many oddities which made the ballerina question whether there was more to the story.

Carol had met Ed Peletier when she and Gigi were living in New York. The handsome pharmaceutical rep had been recently transferred from his home state of Georgia to the company's office in the city. He and his colleagues happened to be sitting next to the two girlfriends at a trendy Manhattan bar during happy hour. The dancers were celebrating Carol’s twenty first birthday, and they had dressed up and splurged on a bar where the drinks were ridiculously priced compared to their neighborhood pub. The young man on the barstool next to Carol had looked and sounded awkward in the upscale atmosphere with his heavy southern accent, dressed in his off the rack, ill fitting business suit and worn dress shoes. He was on the fringe of the conversation with his peers, who were obviously comfortable in the posh cocktail lounge. Ed had immediately honed in on the young, beautiful, vodka buzzed Carol, with her long eyelashes and long, curly, red hair, flattering her with some of the worst pick up lines the two young women had ever heard.

Gigi’s friend had been smitten with the man’s drawl and his attentiveness. Ed had been charming, tall and fit, with a head full of wavy dark hair and pretty eyes. Their home state of Georgia, and the feeling of not quite fitting into the high paced, moneyed New York scene was something the two had in common, and they quickly fell into a relationship. Within two months the couple had moved into an apartment in the Bronx they had barely been able to afford with their two salaries. Within three months Carol had given notice with the NYCB because she was pregnant.

The prima ballerina had noticed, as each month had passed, she heard from her best friend less and less. Gigi's new relationship with Yuri was keeping her busy, and the couple had been working overtime with Misha to prepare for their first production together, but she still missed her sofa bed buddy. She had missed having her friend at work and in the same apartment, after being attached at the hip to Carol for three years, working, playing and sleeping together after they murmured for hours in the still of the night about their hopes and dreams. Gigi had tried to reach out to her as often as she could by phone, but weeks and months went by, and Carol rarely returned her phone calls, and always had an excuse why she couldn’t get together for lunch or dinner, when they did finally connect.

Gigi had been thrilled to finally get a call from Carol when her daughter Sophia was born. Her bestie had invited her to the hospital, specifying she should stop by to visit anytime before dinner, making the excuse she was exhausted by the time five o’clock rolled around.

Visiting during the day would have been impossible, due to Gigi’s rehearsal schedule, if Misha hadn’t taken pity on her and given her a two hour break the following day so she could take a cab to visit her friend and her new baby. Traffic had been heavy, and by the time the prima ballerina had arrived at the hospital it was almost dinner time. The two women had cried and laughed with joy over the precious baby girl, Gigi admitting it would be hard to hand Sophia back, once she’d held the baby in her arms. The two women had conversed as if they hadn’t been separated for months, talking about everything under the sun.

Strangely, the longer her visit went on the more skittish Carol became. “Everything okay, Carol?” her friend had asked after the woman had looked at the clock on the wall for the sixth time.

“Everything is fine,” Carol had insisted. “I’m just trying to get Sophia on a regular sleeping and eating schedule, and it’s almost time for her feeding.” The explanation didn’t ring true, and Gigi had studied her friend thoughtfully as she handed the baby back to her mother.

The amount worry on the new mother’s face had been excessive over a napping schedule, and her nervousness wasn’t making any sense, but when Gigi looked at the clock on the wall she realized it was five o’clock, and Carol had mentioned she hadn’t wanted visitors at dinner hour. Announcing it was time for her to get back to Misha and Yuri, Gigi had watched relief wash over her friend, making Gigi question why she felt so pressed for her visitor to leave. Carol had changed so much since she’d started seeing Ed, but the two women hadn’t spent enough time together in the last months for Gigi to put a finger on exactly what was different.

Whatever it was, it gave her a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. She pretended all was fine as she gave the new mommy a hug, telling her before she left, “You know you can always call me, Carol, for anything. I’ll always be here for you, even when our busy lives seem to be keeping us apart.” She had pulled back to look her friend in the eye, not sure why she felt the need to reassure her.

There had been a shimmer of unshed tears in Carol’s eyes as she’d nodded, avoiding eye contact by shifting her gaze to look out the window next to her bed. “I know, Gigi.”

“Promise me you’ll call me if you need me, Carol.” Her friend didn’t answer, silently nodding once more as she continued to look outside. Gigi had patted her hand where it lay on her baby's back, kissed Sophia’s beautiful little pink face, peeking out from under her tiny knitted cap as she rested on her mother’s shoulder, and exited the room with a frown. Something had definitely been off with Carol, but since her friend had tried to act as if all was fine in her world, Gigi could do nothing but remind the woman she would always be there for her, if needed.  

Gigi had been stepping off the elevator on the ground floor of the hospital, and was heading to the exit when she realized she’d left her sweater in her friend’s room. Groaning inwardly, she had rushed back onto the elevator and pressed the button, hurrying down the hall to Carol’s room after it arrived on the third floor. As she’d approached the open door, Gigi’s stomach clenched when she heard Carol cry out softly in what sounded like distress, then plead in a hushed voice, “Stop Ed, you’re hurting me!”

She had gone into fight or flight mode, her need to protect her friend had instinctively outweighed any hesitancy about putting herself in the middle of a conflict between the couple as she stepped into the room. Ed was leaning over his girlfriend’s bed, holding onto her wrist in a manner which was obviously painful, pushing Gigi’s sweater in Carol’s face, as if he was angry about its presence.

The minute he had registered footsteps approaching, Ed dropped Carol’s arm, moving his hand to gently cover the red marks his aggressive grip had caused her skin. Gigi stood silently, staring the man down, not needing words to make it clear she had seen what had happened. Her mind had raced with the implications of his behavior, and all of the strangeness surrounding her friend’s behavior over the last months suddenly started to make sense.

Letting her gaze move from Ed to Carol, Gigi had been at a loss as to what to do or say, and she and her best friend stared at each other for several seconds before Ed finally broke the silence, walking around the bed to position himself in front of Carol to block her from Gigi’s view. Holding out the sweater she’d left behind, he had been all smiles as he stated the obvious. “You forgot somethin’.”

He hadn’t seen Gigi in over a year, yet there was no greeting, or no ‘How’ve you been?’, because he was clearly not happy to see her, despite the smile he’d plastered on his face. His position between the friends made it clear he wanted to keep them separated, just as he’d been doing since shortly after the couple had met, Gigi realized. Keeping them apart because he wanted to isolate Carol, as was typical in abusive relationships.

Taking the sweater from Ed’s hand she deliberately had stepped around him, trying to look Carol in the eye as she leaned over to kiss her friend on the cheek and hug her one more time, even though the woman wouldn’t look up from studying her fingers. “I forgot to tell you how much I love you,” she’d murmured loud enough for Ed to hear. Gigi may have been posturing, telling Ed he’d failed in dismembering the friends’ relationship, but she’d meant what she said with all her heart and wanted Carol to know she had someone to count on, if needed. “I’ll always be here for you and Sophia. Always.” She felt Carol nod minutely into her shoulder before she pulled away.

Gigi’s heart had broken as she’d left the hospital room, her mind racing as she made her way back to the studio. Had she missed clues which would have let her know Ed was an abuser? Should she have known something was horribly wrong as her friend had pulled away from her during her pregnancy? Had Carol said anything, the few times they’d spoken, which Gigi should have recognized as a cry for help? She had almost felt as if she were overreacting to what she’d seen, yet if the man had no qualms about physically hurting her friend in an open room with people right outside the doorway, she could only imagine what he would do in their home, where no one could see his abuse.

Tears had run down the ballerina’s face as she sat in the back seat of the taxi cab, and practically throwing a twenty over the front seat at the driver when he pulled up at 890 Broadway, she’d run up four flights of steps and into the studio, hoping her source of comfort was in their rehearsal studio. She had been more than relieved to find him there.

“Malyshka,” Mikhail had greeted her, his brow furrowing when he noticed his girl’s state of upset as she hurried across the room towards him. “What happened? Are Carol and the baby okay?” He had immediately opened his arms to pull her in, holding her as she rambled about what had happened at the hospital.

Gigi had tried to call Carol a few weeks later, at a time when she knew Ed would be at work. The Peletier’s home telephone number had been disconnected and there was no forwarding number. At the time, there had been no cell phones to use to text a friend or track them down wherever they happened to be at the moment, and email and home computers and web searches had not come on the scene yet. By the time the dancer had the chance to make the trek to the Bronx to personally make sure her friend was okay, she’d been shocked to find the family had moved, and had left no forwarding address with the landlord. Even more disconcerting had been the fact the building’s owner had told her the tenants had left suddenly, and had been two months delinquent on their rent payments. Gigi had been sick with worry about the fate of her friend.

Gigi had never stopped missing Carol, or worrying about her, and once computers and social media were available she occasionally searched for her friend. She hadn’t come across her, other than in some outdated articles about New York City Ballet performances. It was as if her friend had never existed, which was more than disconcerting.

Years later, when Pierre and Karen had died, Gigi and Yuri decided to relocate to Northern Virginia so as not to uproot Hannah and Marshall from their home and friends so soon after their loss, and because the big city was proving difficult for Yuri to navigate with his physical limitations. The newly formed family lived in her brother’s home until Dale had passed away and left them the house on the water, only a few miles away. After a family meeting to discuss their options, the children had both agreed it was time for a change. They had wanted to make a new home for themselves with their aunt and uncle, and let go of some of the painful reminders of their parents which they were surrounded by, daily.  

Once Gigi had moved to Virginia, and the location settings on her computer and phone automatically geared her search results to ones relevant for her area, Gigi finally found Edward Peletier’s name in a list of locals who had been arrested for driving under the influence. She had been a woman obsessed with the tidbit of information, her passion for trying to find the woman, renewed. Not knowing where to start in her search, she had hired a private investigator to look for a woman by the name of Carol Anderson or Carol Peletier, because it was killing Gigi not knowing what had become of her friend and her precious daughter.

____________

_Fucking pain in the goddamn fucking ass. Fuck her and her fucking need to be right. Fucked me over. Fucked over the school. I hope she’s fucking happy with herself. Fuck. Her._

Negan had been in an exceptionally foul mood, acting like a crazed tyrant throughout football practice after leaving the meeting with Miss Moral Fucking High Ground and Philip Blake. He’d tried to talk to Blake as the man walked to the parking lot, but the DA had blown him off, insisting, “You better get that little problem under control Negan. Don’t bother calling me until you know when Penny’s first day of cheerleading practice will be.”

The cheerleading coach had had the fucking nerve to sit in her fucking office that morning, acting as if she understood why Mount Vernon needed to keep Blake happy, and why Penny would need to be added back to the cheerleading squad, and then she spit in the face of him, and the track team. _Fuck her twice._

The football coach had ended up brow beating his players all day mostly because they hadn’t done one goddamn thing right and partly because he was pissed at the world and every fucking thing in it. He’d ended up making the boys stay late until they got their fucking shit together, pissing off all the fucking soccer moms who had to sit in their mini vans and wait the extra hour for their lazy ass teenagers. He'd managed to work himself into a bigger fucking lather because he'd had to stifle his fucking mouth when some of the women decided to sit their goddamn asses in the bleachers and watch the rest of practice. Fuck them and their ponytails and athletic, skirted fucking leggings.

Negan mulled over his shitty day as he sat on his deck at five twenty, having just poured himself a triple scotch on the rocks, the half full bottle sitting next to him on the table because he knew he’d need at least one refill to relax his ass. At _least_ one. The crazy fucking traitor next door was in the middle of her afternoon swim he deduced, as he looked out over the water, trying to feel the sense of calm Lucille had always told him it had given her. He knew Gigi was mid-swim, because her towel was draped over the third pylon from the right, so she could grab it as she stepped onto the dock after climbing the ladder positioned right next to it. The coach knew this because the dancing bitch next door with her pointed fucking toes was a creature of habit. She swam every day at five o’clock, on the nose. She had not swum the day she’d danced all the fuck in his face in the gym, even though it was still light outside when she’d gotten home from work, because it was after five o’clock. He knew it as sure as he knew his own goddamn name.

Every single fucking time Gigi left her office she wrote “I’m out!” with the hot pink marker attached to the stupid fucking dry erase board on her door, with her stupid fucking hearts dotting the ‘i’ and the exclamation point. Without fail. Who the hell did she think gave a flying fuck whether she was in or out? He, Merle and Gigi had been the only three people in their end of the building for the last two weeks, and he certainly didn’t give two shits.

Detective Negan had deduced every Wednesday night, groceries were delivered by the local grocery store. Friday night was pizza night at the house next door, and the pizza and salad were always ordered from Pizano’s, even though there were ten different fucking places which delivered pizza in their area. _And who orders a fucking salad from a pizza place, anyway?_ He knew she was the one putting on the pretense of eating healthy, because he’d seen her eating greenery the night he and Merle had played football with Marshall and his friends, while everyone else ate pizza.

Negan also knew Gigi was slightly fucking OCD, and would not step foot in her house with shoes on. She always opened the french doors, or the sliding glass door, and then put one foot, then the other, over the threshold to drop them, one at a time. She was so fucking anal retentive she would then bend over, her ass sticking out of the doorway, and pick them up from the floor inside and move them against the interior wall to the right of the door. Since she spent more than a second on the task, he knew her crazy fucking ass was lining them up just so.

Gigi’s neighbor had also noted she always stood in the same position on the dock before she hit the water for her swim, and would shake out her hands and roll her head on her shoulders as if she were letting go of some physical tension before she could proceed. Right before she dove in she would always, much to his perverse delight, run her index fingers up the back of the legs of her tight little swim shorts to pull them down further over her beautiful fucking cheeks.

He didn’t know what the fuck it was about her that fascinated him so. Every guy could appreciate an attractive woman, or a hot body, but Negan had always been one to be easily turned off if a woman’s personality didn’t fit his list of requirements, no matter how hot she was. He had very specific standards, and if one of his criteria was not met, there was no chance in hell he’d bite. It was royally pissing him off he had such a huge, constant fucking hard on for a woman who was turning out to be the bane of his fucking existence. He may as well have chased her around the yard with his dick in his hand, the way he’d been making every pathetic attempt to catch a glimpse of her, despite the fact she was a serious fucking irritant.  It surprised him the woman was constantly poking him, testing him, and pushing his buttons, deliberate or not, and he still wanted to fuck her into tomorrow. The very fact was part of the reason why he was so fucking pissed at and about her, most of the time.

_Here she fucking comes. I wonder if I’ll be able to look in her direction without spitting._

His misery climbed out of the water as she always did, rung her shoulder length hair to squeeze the excess water out of it as she always did, toweled it a bit and draped the cloth over her shoulders as she always did, then headed towards her house. Then she did something she had never done. She acknowledged his presence. Halfway up the yard she turned and walked in his direction, stopping at enough of a distance from his deck so she could still see him on the second floor structure. _Ahh, fuck._

“Can we talk about what happened today?” Gigi called out to him casually.

 _Fuck you._ “No.” He took a drink of his scotch and continued to stare at the water beyond the dock.

“We’ll need to talk about it sometime, you know,” she prodded him. "There are some things I didn't get the chance to fill you in on before the meeting you really need to ..."

He flicked the back of his hand at her, cutting her off, as if he was shooing away an annoying fly. Getting up from the table, he picked up his drink and his bottle, heading towards the sliding door that lead to his family room. “Oh no, Coach Sokolov,” he called over his shoulder, his tone overly dramatic, using her words from the meeting they’d had in his office at the beginning of the week. “I’m not obligated to talk to you outside of work hours, and I’m definitely not obligated to talk to you about matters other than those required to implement the county curriculum.” He slid the patio door closed behind himself, smirking at his win.

___________

 _Such a jerk._ Gigi turned and walked into her own house after he went inside, shaking her head over the big, fat, egotistical baby who lived next door. She mulled over the discussion they’d had before the meeting with Penny’s father. It had been civil, friendly even. He had asked her about dancing, and he had been genuinely interested in her answers.  She had actually enjoyed chatting with him. They’d had a reasonable and productive discussion about what would likely happen at the meeting with Penny’s father, and being the control freak she was, she hadn’t been able to stand the thought of a man like Philip Blake trying to crush her and her new coworkers under his morally corrupt thumb. She also hadn’t been able to stand the man taking advantage of the school’s desperate need for funding. She had immediately felt defensive, affronted over the seemingly impossible position they had been put in. She’d felt the need to protect the school and her coworkers from Philip Blake, despite the fact she had only been at the job for a few weeks.

Surprisingly, she’d felt most protective of her neighbor, even though she knew he didn’t need or want her protection. He was a big boy, and he’d made his choices where the district attorney’s money was concerned. When she’d talked it out in her head afterwards, it hadn’t taken her long to figure out why she felt the way she did. It was because, for the second time since they’d met, the football coach had unwittingly revealed something of himself to her when they’d talked that morning. Something she knew, deep down, had been difficult for him to voice. He had obviously been pissed with himself the first time he’d given her a peek inside, when he’d revealed the details of coping with losing his wife as he had tended to her cuts on the dock. When they’d spoken that morning before the meeting in the principal’s office, in his gritty, foul mouthed way Negan had revealed a vulnerability which arose from his passion for his job and his department, and his loyalty to his friend and his students, the glimpse of his motives changing the way she viewed her cranky neighbor. He’d revealed a frustration with having to play Philip Blake’s self serving game, because he didn’t have the luxury to do otherwise. He had told her outright he didn’t want to undermine her, but felt he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. She had been shocked and pleasantly surprised at his concern at what affect it would have on her if they had to put Penny back on the cheerleading squad. She had also been surprised at how the mushy girly-girl in herself felt compelled to make things all better for the man who had shared this bit of himself with her. She suspected it was something he rarely did.

Determined to find a way around Mister Blake’s money, she’d made several phone calls in a short amount of time, after Negan had left her office. Gigi had always been uncompromising when it came to business matters, learning from Misha never to settle for less than what she deserved and wanted. Because her fame afforded her a certain amount of privilege, in record time she’d come up with some viable alternatives to a tainted check from the district attorney. Pleased with herself, she had hurried to Principal Grime’s office, needing to be sure he would be okay with his new employee sticking her nose and hands into the school’s business, before the meeting with the district attorney started at nine o’clock. Rick had actually been thrilled with what she’d presented to him. She’d had just enough time to go over things with him when Philip had arrived, leaving her without the opportunity to fill Negan in on things before the meeting started.

Gigi stopped at her fridge as she pondered her neighbor’s anger with her, pouring herself a glass of Pinot Grigio before she headed to the master bathroom. Turning on the water in the shower, she shimmied out of her swimwear and stepped in, taking another drink before she sat her wine glass on the built in ceramic shelf on the wall opposite the shower head. She found Negan’s volatility fascinating, yet frustrating. He’d obviously been aggravated with her tactics during the meeting, yet when Mister Blake had started asking her about Yuri, Negan clearly had come to her defense, going as far as to step in between her and the politician, as if trying to shield her from the man’s inappropriate questions. She smiled at the thought, then frowned at the memory of him jerking his arm away from her.

It stymied her how he’d defended her, when he was so angry with her. But  the Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde thing had been a pattern with him. He’d yelled at her the day of the wake, then soothed her on the dock. He’d been snippy with her in his office on Monday, but then had started a friendly conversation with her in her office first thing that morning. She suspected there was a complex man behind Negan’s foul mouthed bravado, and it intrigued her. He was provocative, but as much as Gigi had hoped she would become friendly with her neighbor after their night of angst sharing on the dock, she wasn’t sure if she had the energy to try to figure him out, while dealing with his unpredictability.

_Even if he does smell nice and have pretty eyelashes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Try as I might, I am just not a "fast" writer, so I hope you all are okay with my updating TD every two weeks. I know there are writers out there who write and post daily, and I honestly don't know how they do it, since for me, it's a time consuming task to write a chapter. 
> 
> Thank you all for your patience! If you have the time to let me know how you think it's going so far, I'd love to hear from you.


	9. The Day After The Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 4th of July to my readers in the U.S.!

* * *

Negan was slow to drag himself out of bed on Friday, having laid awake until two in the morning trying to figure out how he was going to tell his buddy Simon the new track he’d been promised wasn’t going to happen. The man was spending the summer  at his parent’s ranch in Montana with his wife and kids. He would be returning to Virginia a few days before Mount Vernon’s teachers were slated to return to work for the school year. From the photos his friend had been posting on Instagram, it looked like he was having a great time. He would come back to work relaxed and happy, only to have his friend tell him he and his students had been royally screwed. 

He’d spent quite a bit of time, at around midnight, pondering whether he could present the facts to Simon without making Mount Vernon’s new phys ed teacher look like a bitch, because for some unknown fucking reason, he wanted to let Simon form his own opinion about the woman. 

At about one forty-five, after quite a bit of ranting in his own head, he had figured out why he wanted to let his buddy come to his own conclusions about Gigi.  It was because he’d realized he really couldn’t blame Gigi for wanting to stand up to Philip and Penny Blake and everything their entitled, privileged white bread asses stood for, even if it cost the school thirty thousand dollars. The injustice of playing to the district attorney and his spoiled as fuck son and daughter for sorely needed funding had been maddening, and he admired Gigi, more than a little bit for slinging her beach ball sized lady nuts around at the meeting, telling Blake in no uncertain terms, yet also in very tactful, honey coated wording, she wouldn’t have his lazy, disrespectful daughter on her varsity squad. His neighbor was quick and she was shrewd, which was a major fucking turn on for the football coach, even while he was angry with her. Equally as admirable, in Negan’s mind, was how she had also questioned why Blake would expect anyone to laud the girl’s mediocre performance. Gigi had managed to bend the man over and fuck him hard before he’d realized what was happening, and Negan was more than a little bit jealous she had been the one to ream his ass.  

He knew Blake wouldn’t take kindly to being bested by Gigi. The look on the man’s face after she’d stepped on his toes for the third or fourth time in five minutes was the look of a man about to go postal on everyone in the room. When Philip had questioned Gigi about her husband’s suicide, it was almost as if the cocksucker was questioning whether the official cause of death was accurate, almost implying there was something fishy about the finding. 

As angry as Negan had been with her, he wasn’t going to let Blake continue his offensive inquiry, and he, himself had sealed the track team’s fucking coffin when he had stepped up to let the shithead know he would have to go through the six foot two man in front of him to get to Gigi. Her defender sighed loudly in the dark of his room, hoping their actions weren’t going to come back and bite them both in the ass. 

________

Gigi insisted on dropping Marshall off at practice early on Friday, wanting to try to talk to Negan again before he went out to the football field to start practice at seven thirty. She rushed into the school building at five minutes before seven and dropped her things on the desk in her office, leaving her door open so she would see and hear him pass by on the way to his own.  He would arrive in twenty minutes, as he always did, and she didn’t want to take the chance she would miss him because she really wanted to clear the air. She knew if she could explain things to him, it would be a start. A man like Negan wouldn’t be easy to win over, she knew, because in his mind it wasn’t just about the loss of the money. It was about the fact she’d had the nerve to trample over his domain, destroying the lucrative relationship he had cultivated. It was clear he was more of a control freak than she was, and she was sure the fact he’d had to sit in the principal’s office and watch her do the opposite of what they’d discussed had not gone over well, no matter the outcome. She had stepped into his sandbox, and not only stolen his shovel, but used it to knock down his sand castle. 

Gigi passed the time waiting for Negan organizing the contents of her bag and her desk, then writing “I’m in!” on the board on her door, using a royal blue marker for a change of pace. She immediately rewrote it in hot pink when she decided the blue wasn’t perky enough. She added a quotation about happiness underneath, because she firmly believed in putting good vibes out to the universe in order to get good vibes back. Since there was time to kill before her neighbor arrived, she decided to start stretching. It wouldn’t take long to talk to the football coach, so she’d have plenty of time to work on routines for her cheerleaders, and maybe even dance a little before cheerleading practice started.  

__________

Negan heard what sounded like Gigi’s voice as he turned the corner into the hallway where the phys ed offices resided. 

“Ow, ow, ow, ow. _Ow_!” the contortionist murmured to herself as she stretched on the floor in front of his office. 

 _What the fuck, Gigi?_ His neighbor was laying on her back on the hallway floor in between their offices. Head at twelve o'clock, her legs were spread wide fucking open at the two and ten o’clock positions. Using her hands, she was pushing her ankles towards the floor to stretch the muscles of her inner thighs. He wasn’t sure whether should be impressed by her flexibility or turned on at the picture of her thighs spread so far apart, just inviting him to lay in between them. _I really need to fucking crawl up on that and lick those abductors. I bet they’re hard as fuck. Sink my teeth into them. Hhhnng. Feel her body fucking shudder from a little bit of pleasurable pain. Fuckity fucking fuck._

“Ow, ow, ow, ow,” the cadence continued with each quick bounce of her thighs towards the floor. Amused with herself, Gigi’s giggle followed, and then she let go of her ankles, sat up and started to do stretches for her arms. 

Gigi hadn’t heard him approaching, due to her own exclamations of pain, and she was startled when he suddenly was in her line of vision, her body jumping with fright. She stopped what she was doing and spun herself on her butt to face him as he walked by, frowning at his chuckle of pleasure at his effect on her. Popping up from the floor quickly she followed, standing behind him as he unlocked his office door, suggesting, “I’m hoping we can talk now that we’re on the clock?” When he opened the door and stepped inside, she followed closely, almost running into his back when he stopped two steps inside the office. “I think you’ll be pleased to know… ” 

 _Did she just follow my ass in here?_ The football coach turned to face her  as she prattled on about a woman named Jessica who husband worked and was bored … _what the fuck is she babbling about?_ He took steps towards her, as if he was going to walk back out of the office, causing Gigi to walk backwards out the door into the hall. Negan stopped once she was a safe distance from him, grinning at her as he grabbed the door by the knob and slammed it closed in her face. He knew it was a dick move, but he wasn’t ready to fucking deal with her yet, and when he finally was, he would be the one talking, not her. A soft knock on his door a few seconds later caused him to roll his eyes in its direction as he walked around his desk to sit down. 

“ _That’s really the way you want to play this?_ ” the tiny pain in the ass called through the barrier in a very reasonable tone of voice. He couldn’t help but admit to himself her tenacity just tickled his balls, and he huffed out a silent laugh. Despite his admiration, he wasn’t going to fucking answer her.

_________

Gigi gritted her teeth when Negan whipped the door in her direction, trying to brace herself for the noise as it shut. She stood in front of his office door, letting her head drop forward until it bumped the door lightly. Her hands came up in front of her, her fingers spread against the smooth surface as she counted to ten to calm herself. _He’s going to have to talk to me. I will make him talk to me …_ After thirty seconds or so an idea popped into her head and she smiled to herself.

__________

Negan could hear the muffled sounds of movement against his door as it rattled slightly in the door frame. He wondered what the hell Gigi was doing as he heard a light thud, followed by another light noise a few seconds later. _What the fuck?_ Things got quiet for a bit so he relaxed, assuming she’d given up and gone back to her office. Turning on his pc, he sat down and pulled a stack of paperwork out of his desk drawer before logging on to the computer and opening his email. As he did, his eyes were drawn across the room to the sound of muted rattling, and a few thumps on the door, the cause of which he couldn’t discern. He raised his eyebrows, waiting, but when no other noise followed he went back to the tasks in front of him. He was intrigued, when as he worked, the door rattled lightly in its frame every few minutes. _Is she fucking stalking me?_ Several minutes later there was a light tap, tap, tapping on the metal. He didn’t know what the fuck was going on outside his door, but he wasn’t going to give Gigi the satisfaction of opening the door to look. 

The sounds continued intermittently for the duration of the fifteen minutes he worked, and at seven twenty-four he straightened up his desk, pulled his whistle out of his pants pocket, putting its lanyard over his head and draping it down the front of his Mount Vernon polo shirt. Patting himself down to be sure he had his office keys and phone, he grabbed his iPad and then opened his door to head out to the football field.

_______

Gigi sat down on the floor, her back leaning against the door. Her rear end started to get sore after about five minutes so she shifted, putting one shoulder against one side of the door jamb, and her feet on the other, heel on top of toe since it was only about six inches wide. She made no attempt to be quiet as she moved, wanting the man inside to know she was still there. 

She got bored after another few minutes and walked her feet up the door frame, singing Eensie Weensie Spider in her head to a pop beat, shuffling her feet up and back down, as if she was dancing the Charleston, while she listened to the stilted sound of Negan’s keyboard clicking as he typed. _He really needs some typing lessons._

Gigi finally heard the sounds of him moving around in his office. Checking her watch to see if it was time for him to head outside for practice, she jumped to her feet, waiting for him to open the door. When he finally did, she was standing a few feet in front of him. “Great!” she smiled at him, “We’ll have time to talk on the way out to the field,” restarting the discussion she wanted to have with him, whether he wanted to have it or not. The coach stared at her for a few seconds, pursing his lips as he sucked some air between his front teeth with a squeal. 

Gigi moved to the side when he plowed right toward her, then hurried to keep up with him as he strode quickly down the hall. She dove right into what she wanted to tell him, starting, “When you left my office yesterday morning I called a friend of mine …” 

Negan didn’t acknowledge her as she spoke, pulling his phone out of his pants pocket and sliding his thumb across the home screen. 

“ ...whose husband works at the …” 

Tapping on the screen a few times he put the phone to his ear. 

“ ... board of education …”

“Hey, asshole!” the football coach barked into the phone, speaking over Gigi’s ramble next to him. “We doing happy hour at my place or the Keg tonight?”

The cheerleading coach huffed loudly in frustration as she practically ran to keep up with him. His legs were so much longer than hers she was taking two steps for every one of his. _Gosh darn it, Negan! Could you be any more rude?_ “He is in appropriations …” she continued loudly when she heard a break in the muffled response on the other end of the phone.

“You wanna invite Daryl?” Negan questioned, cutting across Gigi as he talked to Merle. “We need to initiate him.”

Even though she knew he was trying to listen to the man on the other end, Gigi informed him, “You mentioned your department hadn’t …” As she spoke, Negan moved several feet over from her in the hallway, so he could hear his friend’s answer. Frustrated, but determined not to be deterred, she jogged over to close the gap, and went on, “...used all of its funds …” 

Seeing her counter his attempt at creating distance, Negan raised his hand, straightening his arm and holding his palm close to her face, trying to keep her from getting any closer.

“Are you kidding me?!” she challenged him, getting angrier by the second. Her own hand shot out, knocking his out of the way. He moved it right back into position six inches from her face as he turned to laugh outright at her attempt to thwart him, phone still at his ear. 

“No, no. I’m here. Sorry. I’m just swatting at a pest,” he explained to Merle when the man wanted to know what the hell he was laughing at. _Damn, she is fucking stubborn. Leave me the fuck alone, woman!_ Having rounded the corner into the front hall of the phys ed wing, Negan aimed for the exit doors, picking up his pace as his neighbor struggled to keep up with him. Turning to smirk at her again over his shoulder when she fell behind, he informed Merle, “Walsh texted me. He’s ready to start back up with our Friday get togethers, even if school hasn’t started … right … right .... that’s what _I_ said! Bring it the fuck on! Ford is here today, setting up for ROTC. I’ll see if he wants to join us. And I’m sure Walsh will invite Grimes. We’ll see if Rick shows, the pussy whipped fuck.” 

The man beside Gigi was quiet again, and she fumed as he listened to his buddy’s response. She stopped in her tracks when they approached the doors, refusing to chase him outside where someone else might see their childish interaction, watching from behind as he reached for the door. Normally priding herself on maintaining her cool under fire, Gigi was beside herself, seeing red for the first time in her life over his puerile behavior and his refusal to talk to her, or listen. She felt like a woman possessed as she rushed him. 

Negan heard her guttural growl before he felt her fingers slide between his side and his bicep and then encircle his arm. With a surprising amount of force she pulled him around to face her, using her other hand on his shoulder to aid in turning him, then grabbed the front of his shirt, forcing him to stay in her space. She was physically manipulating him the same way she did Marshall’s friend Matt when she shoved him off the dock into the water. It shouldn’t have been so easy for her to move either of them, since they were much bigger than she, but it was clear she knew exactly how to move his weight exactly where she wanted it, the push on his shoulder the difference in whether she would be successful. 

He didn’t mind in the fucking least he was being man handled. Gigi was standing not more than a few inches in front of him, frozen, with her fist pressed to his stomach, looking up at him with a scowl. She smelled like citrus, without the hints of vanilla he’d detected on the dock, and he found himself breathing her in as he raised his eyebrows at her in both surprise and question. Her look of anger quickly morphed into one of shock, as if her own actions had surprised her, her hand quickly dropping from his shirt. He was pleased as fucking punch when she didn’t back away from him immediately, but stared up at him for a moment, her eyes flitting between his two as if she was searching for something. _Fuuuuuuck._

 _“Hey, shithead!”_ Hearing Merle’s distant voice calling out through the phone in his hand, Negan quickly stuffed the device into his pocket, deciding his conversation with his friend was finished. 

The sound and movement cut through Gigi’s thoughts, and she blinked quickly as she came out of her trance, lowering her gaze to look at his shirt where she’d held it. Gasping softly at the state of it, she hesitantly raised her hand, her fingertips lightly rubbing the material to work out the wrinkles she’d created in the fabric. 

She may as well have grabbed his cock, his body’s response intense as a thrill ran through him at the inadvertent, gentle caress of his abs and her close proximity. He had to suppress the urge to close his eyes and try to tune into the sensation further. _What the fuck is that about?_

“I am so sorry,” Gigi murmured as she worked, peeking up at him through her eyelashes, trying to gauge how angry he was with her. “I don’t know what came over me. There’s no excuse …” 

“All good,” he reassured her gently, feeling her embarrassment. 

She nodded at his chest, unable to look at him, then patted it lightly when she finished her repair work. Finally looking up to meet his gaze she pleaded with him softly, “Would you please make time to sit down and talk to me about what happened yesterday?” 

Negan enjoyed their closeness for a few more seconds while he decided how to respond. “No,” he replied simply before he turned, pushed open the door and walked out of the building. Scrunching up his nose, he gave a head to toe mock shiver at the lingering effect of their crazy fucking interlude and the fact he was the winner of this sparring round. 

_Oh, Coach Sokolov. It is sooo fucking on. In more goddamn ways than one._

________

 _What is wrong with me?_ Gigi chided herself for the umpteenth time, appalled at her behavior with the football coach. She was distracted during practice with her squads, having to take a break to refocus when she found her mind wandering back to their interaction while she was supposed to be spotting her students in their tumbling runs. Telling the kids to take a half hour for lunch, she made her way to her office and closed the door, leaving her hot pink “I’m out!” message on the door so she wouldn’t be interrupted. Her students were always popping in and out of her office to visit, and today was not a day she wanted to make small talk with teenagers, as much as she loved them all. 

Sitting down in her cushioned desk chair, she was dwarfed in its large frame. Pulling her feet up on the seat and her knees to her chest, she laid her head back on the padded headrest and closed her eyes, clearing her head so she could think about what had happened with Negan. Gigi tried to ignore the little devil on her shoulder who had been goading her all morning, telling her something she didn’t want to hear.

Instead she focused on her anger over her neighbor’s rude behavior, and her aggressive response to it. She talked to herself about why she had acted like a crazy woman, grabbing him and forcing him to look at her. She needed to get over the mortification which was eating at her. It was done, and there was no way to change it. She knew she was prone to beating herself up over her own mistakes, and needed to just let it go. She could only promise herself, in future, she would never let her anger influence her to such a degree. 

Her behavior that morning was beyond her own comprehension. She’d never in her life been physically aggressive with anyone other than typical sibling fisticuffs with Pierre when they were young, but she had wanted to pummel the football coach when he’d put his hand in her face to block her from getting closer to him. She supposed her exasperation stemmed from never having encountered anyone quite as infuriating as he. In opposition, his response to her apology after she’d spun him around was so genuine and reassuring, his cantankerousness forgotten, and Gigi could feel his desire to soothe her upset. In the blink of an eye he’d gone back to infuriating when he refused to meet with her and then ran off to football practice. 

Her devil was still whispering in her ear, so she decided to give in and listen to see what it had to say. The little nuisance repeated the same thing it had divulged as she’d held on to Negan’s shirt and looked into his eyes, the same thing it had been taunting her with all day. She had tried so, so hard to ignore the truth, but it was glaringly obvious, even without her little friend pointing it out. She was insanely attracted to her neighbor. She had first become aware of it when he’d helped her the night she’d hurt herself, and she had promptly written it off as gratitude for his attentive and gentle care. 

No matter gratitude didn’t normally involve enjoying the feel of being in someone’s space, or the electricity she’d felt as he’d run his fingertips along her palm while he looked over her wounds. Gratitude didn’t normally lead a person to lean in closer to take in more of a man's scent because it had made her swoon. Gratitude didn’t make a woman want to slide her hand into her panties late at night when she thought about the feel of his warm breath on her wrist as he’d tended to her hand, and the way he had swept his tongue between his teeth as they had looked into each other’s eyes during a break in their quiet conversation in the dark. 

Gigi had experienced the same feeling when she’d stared into his eyes that morning in the hall, only it had been much more profound. His beautiful caramel eyes staring back into hers, and the feeling of his firm abs under her fist had sent a wave of pleasure through her, and she’d found herself searching his gaze in a ridiculous attempt to see if perhaps he felt the same way. Not surprisingly, he had only looked shocked and more than slightly amused at her atrocious behavior. Even though she should have shrunken away in humiliation, she hadn’t wanted the moment to end, insisting on working the wrinkles out of his shirt, the feeling of taut muscles under her fingers only heightening her attraction to him. 

Gigi groaned out loud at the idea she had a crush on her ornery neighbor, but she couldn’t deny it. Guilt washed over her, the idea she was lusting after him when her husband had only passed away a month before, unfathomable. She consoled herself over her emotional infidelity by reminding herself it had been forever since she and Yuri had been intimate, since the changes caused by his aneurysms had put an end to their love making. Even though her husband’s doctors had assured the couple the nature of Yuri's paralysis should not affect his ability to achieve an erection or dull his desire, their love life had come to a complete halt shortly after his first aneurysm. Whether it was due to his condition or his antidepressants, Gigi never knew. 

Not only had it been over a year since she’d made love with Yuri, the ongoing stress of being caregiver for her chronically angry husband had left the ballerina with such a low sex drive she hadn’t even had the longing to pleasure herself more than a handful of times over the previous year. The first time she had felt the heat of her neighbor sitting beside her on the dock it was as if her long lost libido had shaken her by the shoulders and announced it was not only back, but it wanted to play, and play hard. _This makes absolutely no sense at all._ Gigi wanted to weep at the fact she’d finally awakened from her sexual coma, only to find a total jerk standing there when she’d opened her eyes. _A hot, buff, fantastic smelling jerk with long, beautiful eyelashes and an oh, so pretty, pink tongue._

The cheerleading coach opened her eyes with a sigh and rose from her chair to head back out to practice, lamenting the unsettled feeling in her gut. 

_________

“What in the everloving fuck was that, gentlemen? Get your shit together!” Negan yelled at his players as they ran through their morning drills. “Do it again, you bunch of pansy ass losers, and do it right this time!”

_It is absolutely fucking pathetic I got a fucking hard on when she touched me. Jesus. Such a fucking pussy._

“What the hell, Jay? Get your act together, boy!”

_Fuuuuuuuuuuuck. What she fucking does to me. Jesus. What the fuck is it about her, making me want to throttle her one minute, and wanting her to suck my cock the next? Makes no fucking sense at all._

“Do you really think that was any fucking better than the first time? Take a fucking break and don’t come back until you’re ready to actually work, boys!” 

_Who the fuck am I kidding? I want her to suck my cock even when she’s pissing me off. Jesus it’s a long fucking time until happy hour. Johnny Walker is calling my ass home and it’s only ten o’clock. Fuck me._

__________

Negan, Abraham, Eugene, Shane and Merle were all lined up on the football coach’s deck like fucking lemmings, watching Mount Vernon’s new cheerleading coach drape her towel over the pylon next to the ladder, then shake her arms and roll her head on her shoulders as she prepared for her daily swim. 

“When?” Shane looked at Negan expectantly.

“Watch, watch, watch!” was the harried response as Gigi’s neighbor pointed at the dock, smacking the binoculars in Shane’s hand to push them up towards his face, urging him to look through them. Focusing quickly on the woman on the dock, the basketball coach groaned in appreciation as the woman slid her fingers up the back of her shorts and pulled them down. “ _Damn!_ Now that’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout!” the corner of Shane’s mouth quirked up in a wicked smile as he thought about how he’d like to bend her over and pound her pretty little ass. 

"Her and her pointed fucking toes," Negan observed under his breath as both of her feet turned outward, as they always seemed to do, before her right foot shifted up onto the tip of her big toe and back down. Gigi then pulled her knee up to her chest gracefully, then extended her shin so her leg was almost straight up in the air. He noticed a bit of hesitation as she moved, her foot coming back down before it fully extended. Her hand wrapped around her knee, pressing her thumb into one side and massaging it a bit before she lowered it. _That injury is bothering her. Maybe she shouldn't fucking swim today. Bet Miss OCD wouldn’t even consider taking a fucking day off._

“The pointed toes and out turned feet are caused by years of external rotation of the hip joint and repeated muscle movement to place the feet for the classic five positions in ballet,” Mount Vernon’s chemistry teacher informed them. “This eventually causes the limbs to move themselves into said position despite lack of intent.” 

The four other men standing at the railing nodded their heads at the tidbit of information, Walsh chiming in, “I’d like to have those pointed toes poking me in the side of my head while I screw her brains out.” 

“Nice! Bend her in half!” Merle commented with a nod of approval as they all watched Gigi dive into the water and take off, swimming freestyle. 

“Watch those mouths, gentlemen!  Have a little respect for our new cheerleading coach,” Negan chastised his friends. _If anybody’s going to fucking bend her in half it’s gonna be me._

A voice from below caught the men off guard as it scolded them, “Really, Coach? That is just wrong, on so many levels!” Negan looked down to find Marshall pointing at the man with the binoculars, shaking his head with a grin as his friends spread out in the yard, Julian tossing a football to Dylan as they moved. 

“Fuck. We’ve been caught, fellas,” Negan murmured to his buddies as he raised a hand in greeting to the boy, hoping he hadn’t heard Shane and Merle’s comments. “You fucking snitch on us and I’ll kick your scrawny ass!” he called back, trying to sound like he was joking. _Fuck._

________

Gigi climbed up the ladder onto the dock to find a handsome man waiting for her, her towel in his hands. Dark hair framed his face and dark eyes, and he had a well defined jaw and rugged nose which looked as if it had taken a few turns in a boxing ring. He was perspiring as if he had just run a marathon, which she found odd until she looked over his shoulder to see Marshall, his friends, and a handful of men standing in the shade on the concrete patio under Negan’s deck and a few more hanging out in the shade of the trees at the edge of his property, gulping bottles of water, and wiping at their brows as they clowned around, talking and laughing loudly.

“Gigi, right?” the man asked her, holding two corners of the towel out towards her, obviously waiting to wrap her in it. She nodded, with a look of slight confusion as she tried to figure out who he was and why he was waiting for her. “Shane Walsh,” the man answered her question, introducing himself. “I teach phys ed at Mount Vernon?” He raised the bath sheet in his hands slightly to let her know he would like to help her with it. 

“Ohhhh! _Shane!_ ” she turned her back to him, lifting her hair off her shoulders so he could drape the towel over them. “Carol Peletier has told me so much about you!” 

“She tell you how our team has won the staff versus students volleyball tournament for the last three years?” the basketball coach checked out her ass as he laid the towel across her shoulders, then cocked an eyebrow at her when she turned back around to face him, a smile quirking up one side of his mouth. 

 _What a cutie._ “Yes, she did! I heard the two of you were the allstars, though,” Gigi raved as Shane proceeded to lift the bottom of his shirt, using it to wipe the perspiration off his face while giving her a glimpse of his well toned physique.  

 _He has got to be fucking kidding,_ Negan fumed from his vantage point across the yard, watching his co worker flirt shamelessly with his neighbor, as he wrapped her towel around her, then make a point of showing her his muscular torso. _I would hope to fuck she wouldn’t fall for that pathetic show._ He found himself putting the flat of his hand on his stomach to see if it’d felt toned when she’d touched him earlier. Satisfied with what he found, he glared at Walsh across the yard. Validating the need for his concern, Gigi reached out as she laughed at whatever the fuck Shane had said to her, squeezing his arm. 

“Let’s go, people! Let’s finish this game up! I’ve got some scotch I need to attend to!” the football coach yelled in Walsh’s direction. He seethed a bit more as the man rested his hand lightly on the woman’s lower back, guiding her off the dock and up the yard. 

“You gonna watch us play?” Gigi’s escort questioned her when they reached the point in the yard where they would separate. “Hey, Abe, Eugene! Come meet Gigi!” 

 _Fuck him, trying to get into her fucking panties. Goddamn man whore._ Negan made his way over to the pair, along with the other two men, preempting Shane, “Gigi, this is Abraham and Eugene. They work at Mount Vernon. Abe’s in charge of ROTC, and Dr. Smartypants here, teaches science.” He pointed two fingers at Shane adding, “I see you’ve already met Cassanova, and of course you already know Merle. Have you met Merle’s brother, Daryl?” Negan questioned as the last of the adults made his way over to the group, nodding at Gigi. 

Gigi didn’t quite know what to make of Doctor Jekyll’s sudden interest in introducing her to everyone, but she decided to run with it. After a few minutes of small talk about the upcoming school year the men, along with Marshall and his friends excused themselves, making their way into position in the yard so they could restart their game. 

_________

When Gigi headed back out onto her deck after she had showered and poured herself a glass of wine, the game was in full swing, testosterone, and foul language permeating the air. Negan, Marshall and Merle were playing on the same side with a few of her nephew’s friends, while Shane, Abraham and Daryl and the rest of the teens teamed up against them. She was amused, but somehow not surprised to spot Eugene standing on the sidelines, acting as referee. 

Mount Vernon’s newest teacher enjoyed watching her coworkers play, but she was especially enjoying watching Negan play. She chided herself repeatedly as the game went on for acting like a thirteen year old with a crush, her eyes inadvertently drawn to him the second she stopped making a concerted effort not to stare. 

He sported his ‘serious face’ while he played, hyper focused, eyebrows perpetually knitted together, the lines between them more pronounced due to the scowl he inadvertently wore as he concentrated on everyone and everything in the game. He was always on high alert, his eyes darting from one end of the field to the other, his head constantly turning, moving back and forth, taking in every movement and detail.  

Only when his team was successful would his expression brighten, his furrowed brows relaxing only to rise as he smiled and laughed in celebration, calling out digs at his opposition and compliments to his teammates. Gigi found herself scowling when he scowled and smiling when he smiled, so caught up in his every move she finally gave up on trying not to stare and focused solely on him as he played. 

Her rapt attention was rewarded in the most glorious way when Negan finally realized the futility of raising his arm to wipe the perspiration streaming down his face on the already soaked sleeve of his black v-neck tee shirt, and grabbed the hem of it, pulling it up to blot his neck and face. _Oh, what a beautiful sight to behold._ Gigi found herself leaning forward in her chair as her eyes feasted on the lean, muscular plains of her neighbor’s chest and stomach. His low slung gray pants allowed her more than a glimpse of the long, delicious valleys on both sides of his well defined abs which sloped exquisitely down and inward to frame a delightfully obscene line of thick, dark, wiry hair sensually cascading over his waistband. _Oh. My._

When she finally dragged her eyes away from his belly and let them drift back up his chest to his face, she was more than a little bit embarrassed to discover the object of her desire was staring right back into her eyes. She tried to play it cool as he cocked an eyebrow at her. Panicked, and desperate for an excuse to break eye contact, Gigi lifted her wine glass to her lips to take a drink, thinking she would look down at the glass to finally break away from his stare. After taking a quick sip she observed the fluid as she swirled it in the glass, intending to look somewhere other than at her neighbor when she moved her gaze back to the playing field. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t do it. Her eyes were drawn right back to him because she had to know. The thirteen year old girl in her, who had felt a flutter in her belly when she’d found him staring back at her, had to know if her crush would still be looking her way. _Oh my God, Gigi, grow up. Just do it. Just look at him._ Bringing her eyes up from her wine glass she bravely shifted her gaze right back to Negan’s face. Gigi let out the breath she’d been holding when her eyes met his once more, and she may have let out a little gasp when he gave her a smile and a wink.

She winked right back.


	10. It's A Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Something wrong?” Negan asked calmly, trying not to feed into the pair’s borderline panic. 
> 
> “Hannah said the police are questioning Aunt Gigi out front, Coach!” the teen stage whispered so the man above could hear him. “About Uncle Yuri! And they're not being nice.” His sister stood beside the boy, nodding up at her neighbor, a worried look on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find the writing process fascinating. Sometimes I think I know what I want to write, but then when it starts coming out on the page it isn't quite right, or it doesn't flow, or just doesn't convey what I want, and I get stuck. I'll try to go at the plot from a different angle, or start from a different point, and suddenly things just flow, and I get caught up in what I'm writing. In the end, I really like the way the chapter turns out, and am excited to post it. This is definitely one of those chapters. I hope you like it, too!

On Monday morning when Negan passed Gigi’s open office door, he was surprised to see Merle inside, once again sitting in a chair across from her as she sat behind her desk. He was talking animatedly. They both had a cup of Starbucks coffee in one hand. _What the fuck is up with the new besties and their fucking morning coffee routine?_  

Gigi sounded horrified as she exclaimed, “Oh, no! What did the man do when Daryl threw up on his shoes?” 

The football coach was curious as to when the two had become best fucking buddies. He rolled his eyes as he heard the pair laughing over Merle’s response to her question. The distant sounds of their conversation filtered into his office as he settled into his chair. Cocking an ear to see if he could make out what they were saying, he was a little pissed when he couldn’t. There was a lot of laughing, and Gigi squealed a few times, which pissed him off all the fucking more. Then things got quiet, which made him wonder if they were fucking whispering something they didn't want anyone else to hear. 

He was startled when his neighbor suddenly appeared in his doorway, a banana in one hand, her coffee in the other. Slightly breathless from laughing, a big smile on her face she pleaded, “Can you make time to talk to me before you head to the field? Please?” 

He stared at her for several seconds, with a bit of a squint, his head tilted to one side. “I’ll respectfully fucking decline. You and the asshole seem to have a good thing going in there, Gigi. I wouldn’t want to ruin it with business talk,” he needled her. 

“You could join us for morning coffee, you know,” she baited him, raising one eyebrow. Taking a bite of the piece of fruit, her cheeks puffed out slightly as she chewed the oversized chunk. 

The football coach’s lips quirked up at her lack of grace as she ate. “Maybe some other time,” he refused for a second time, dismissing her by turning to his computer to answer the handful of emails he’d received from hover moms who were concerned about their sons working “at a rigorous level of physical activity” for eight hours in the August heat. _Fuck them. No wonder most of these kids are goddamn pussies._  

__________

On Tuesday morning, there was a cup of Starbucks coffee on the floor in front of Negan’s door. It sat on top of a brown paper napkin, which had a smiley face drawn on it in royal blue marker. He enjoyed the beverage as he sorted some paperwork he needed to complete. When he cleaned up his desk to head outside, he picked up the cup of unfinished coffee to take with him. After giving it some thought, he changed his mind and left it on his desk. Walking by Gigi’s office, he didn't acknowledge the pair inside.

__________

“Do you have time to talk to me now?” His neighbor bounced into his office doorway as he ate his lunch, a half eaten apple in her hand. She smiled at him as she bounced on the balls of her feet, full of fucking energy. 

“No.” She was getting on his last fucking nerve with the bouncy shit. He’d had a shitty morning dealing with Jessie Anderson and a handful of moms who had banded together to accost him before he even stepped on the fucking football field, questioning him about what he was doing to ensure their sons weren’t going to suffer heat stroke. Pulling her son Ron aside once his mother had left, the coach had informed his star running back, if his mother showed up to annoy the fuck out of him again, the teen’s position on the team would be quickly filled by someone else. He hadn’t mentioned to the boy his mom was personification of the term MILF, and he’d fuck her senseless if he had the chance. 

“Okay. Maybe another time.” Gigi accepted his response cheerily, and then bounced out of sight.

  _She really needs to calm the fuck down. Jesus._

________

At four fifteen on Wednesday, when Negan made his way to his office to pack up his things so he could head home, she was standing with her back against the wall, her tote bag hanging from her shoulder, car keys in her hand. 

“Now?” she proposed.

He ignored her plea, wanting her to feel the price she had to pay for fucking him over, and was very fucking satisfied with the look of disappointment displayed on her face as she turned to walk away. 

__________

“Is now a good time?”

“No.”

___________

At five minutes after five o’clock on Thursday afternoon, Negan not only checked his watch, but he double checked it against the time on his phone to be sure it was correct. He continued to casually read the New York Times via the app on his phone, scrolling back up a few paragraphs when he realized he hadn’t absorbed a thing he’d read because he was acting like a fucking stalker, casing the house next door from his perch on his own deck, watching for signs of any and all activity around it because Gigi was five minutes late for her daily swim. He chuckled at Marshall on the dock, as the boy tried unsuccessfully to cast a line into the water with what the coach recognized as one of Dale’s old fishing rods. The teen had obviously never been fishing. 

Negan attempted to read a bit longer before he checked the time again, knowing if his OCD neighbor didn’t come out for her swim by a certain time, she wouldn’t swim at all. He just didn’t know what time she would deem ‘too late’. He’d be fucked if she decided not to swim, because Thursday was the day she always wore her white halter bathing suit top with her little black swim shorts, and he’d found, if he focused just right with his binoculars, he could make out the precise curves of her luscious little titties, and the outline of the darker, raised nipples in their center. He wanted a good look at the titties he’d be sucking and licking and nibbling if he had his way. Negan always got his way. He really needed to fucking mark those tinies as his own by sucking a bruise onto her creamy skin. Soft, sensitive skin which had probably never seen the light of fucking day. _Fuuuuck_.

He would need to be careful today, since Gigi’s nephew was close by, and the coach didn’t want to get caught playing Peeping Tom. He’d assumed Marshall hadn’t tattled on his gang after the boy had caught Shane in the act of ass surveillance, since there hadn’t been any repercussions. 

Negan had decided the night before, after three double scotch on the rocks, his mourning period was over, convinced his late wife would understand. Sure, he missed her and was still trying to cope with her loss, but he viewed the pain of her loss and his need to move forward as totally separate matters. He was obsessed with the thought Gigi was the perfect woman to move his ass forward. 

Lucille had encouraged him to find a woman who would challenge him, and his neighbor definitely fucking did. Handling challenging women was right up his alley. Easy equaled boring, in Negan’s mind. He had never had any interest in easy unless he was looking for a quick lay. 

Added to the fact Gigi would keep him on his toes, she was beautiful and intelligent, which were must haves in his book of wants, because he was self admittedly shallow as fuck. Interestingly, nuances which he knew stemmed from her dancing appealed to him as well. Her lean, muscular body rated very fucking high on his self made scale, but he was surprised to find the contrast of her physique and her soft graceful demeanor very fucking appealing. 

He needed a little taste of her. No, he needed a big fucking taste of the tiny firebrand with the genteel French name. He needed to taste her full lips, and feel those muscular thighs clamped around his hips as he pounded into her wet heat. That fucker Walsh had unknowingly thrown gasoline on the football coach’s fire with a vision which now monopolized the latter’s thoughts; he needed the ballerina’s toes pointed over his shoulders while those graceful fucking fingers clutched at his biceps until her pretty little nails drew blood.

A spark, a mere flicker of interest in the ballerina next door was how it had started, but each encounter with her and every new thing he learned about her stoked the flame higher, fueling the promise of a goddamn wildfire. What had started as a lustful want, had quickly turned into raging need.

Negan knew his interest in her was bordering on obsession, an obsession which intensified every time he was close to her. Like a fucking teenager, he’d get downright, fucking giddy when he’d hear her voice drifting out of her office in the mornings. _You pussy ass fuck._

The sound of her, the look, the scent, it all had drawn him in, but it was her touch which had painted the picture of how things could be. She had been warm and inviting the first few times she’d reached out and touched him, and the feeling had left him craving more. He’d felt her fucking fire though, when she’d used his shoulder to vault herself into the air while dancing around his ass in the gym, and the thrill he’d felt when she’d manhandled him the week before was undeniable. 

The coach’s fascination with his coworker had twisted into its current state of obsessive yearning when he’d caught Gigi checking him out during Friday night’s happy hour football game. He’d looked up to find her ogling him the same way he ogled her ass at swim time. He’d recognized the heat in her gaze as it had swept over him, the wine glass in her hand suspended in the air halfway to her open mouth, due to her focus on _him_. 

When he had caught her in the act, he’d winked at her to let her know he was on to her, and she’d surprised him when she’d winked back. That was the moment he’d known he could have it all. The warm, inviting, comforting woman, and the sexy as fuck crazy bitch who would dare to physically jerk his ass around when he pushed her buttons. 

He knew he and the object of his desire still needed to fully settle the matter of her dicking him the fuck over. He’d been wearing Gigi down since the meeting with Philip Blake, refusing each of her requests to talk things out, and downright ignoring her when the mood struck him. The cheerleading coach had started off the week bouncy and chipper, sporting a huge ass smile each time she’d approached him. As of that morning, when he’d walked through the gym while she set up for her day, her smile and her bounce were nowhere to be found. She had walked over to meet him in the middle of the floor, once again asking him if he would please make the time to talk to her. She had looked a bit dejected at his refusal, or perhaps it was a look of defeat, he mused. Whichever it was, he had reveled in her radically changed disposition before he silently continued on his way.

“Would it help if I said I was sorry?” she had blurted out, calling to him as he strode away from her, sounding a little fucking desperate, which he just. fucking. loved.

Negan had stopped at her words, turning back to find her the picture of penitence. Her chin lowered, her hands fidgeting at her sides, she had looked up her eyelashes at him as she worried her lip, and he’d found himself wanting to suck its rosy softness into his mouth. He hadn't recognized the woman standing in front of him, having only seen the self assured, dance star who was used to manipulating her world to her liking. 

Cocking an ear as if he hadn’t quite heard her, he had taunted dramatically, “What was that, Gigi?” 

The silence which followed his question had been deafening, and he could see her struggle with the idea of giving up control. Of giving it to him. She had tried, for a week, to control the situation, force him to talk to her. She had been certain he would eventually give in, because people didn’t say no to Gigi Sokolov. 

Negan wasn’t going to give in. He was going to change the game, and it was the perfect time to do so because she had just given him an in. She’d shown him a vulnerability in her need to know how to please him, how gain back his favor. 

His neighbor had stared at him for a moment as she pondered what he’d asked of her. _Give me fucking control, Gigi._ Only one person could be in charge, and it had to be Negan. _Gotta be me, because it’s the only fucking way I operate._ If she wanted to make him fucking happy, if she wanted any kind of place in his fucking world, she’d give it up. 

The seconds had ticked by as they'd stared at each other across the twenty foot divide. He had been able to read, clear as fucking day, the moment she understood exactly what he wanted when her nostrils had flared and the fingers of one hand had risen to her collarbone, stroking it lightly where it peeked out of the neck of her tee shirt. 

Negan could have shot a fucking load in his pants when she’d finally lowered her chin a bit more, nodding her head almost indiscernibly. Giving him what he wanted. What he insisted on. _Control._ The thing they’d been battling over since the minute they’d met. Her eyes never left his as she’d softly conceded, “I’m sorry.” 

The two words were all he’d needed, the sweetest fucking words he’d ever heard because they were coming from her. Moving towards her with purpose, he had stopped as close to her as he could manage without touching her. Negan leaned in to whisper to her, nuzzling the shell of her ear with his nose for a fleeting second as he praised, “Good girl, Gigi,” and then, “It’s a start,” before turning and walking away from her. He had grinned from ear to fucking ear at the stuttering of her breath at his caress, and the relief he’d felt physically washing over her at his words. 

__________

A flurry of activity caught Negan’s eye as he flipped to another screen on his phone, and he looked up to see Marshall’s sister Hannah now standing in front of the boy on the dock. Her arms were flailing and fingers pointing toward their house as she spoke. She was obviously upset about something, but strangely she looked as if she was whispering to her brother, sneaking glances at the house and yard as if she were afraid someone would hear her. He wondered if it had to do with Gigi’s absence.

When Marshall took off running towards the house, the football coach became concerned, jumping up from his chair and making his way to the deck railing closest to the children as they barreled up the yard. Wanting to catch the teens’ attention, but remembering the girl’s whispers, he cat called to them as they ran past him. “Psssst!” 

Both children stopped in their tracks, looking around for the source of the sound. Marshall looked relieved as he spotted his coach, and rushed over to talk to the man on the deck above him. 

“Something wrong?” Negan asked calmly, trying not to feed into the pair’s borderline panic. 

“Hannah said the police are questioning Aunt Gigi out front, Coach!” the teen stage whispered so the man above could hear him. “About Uncle Yuri! And they're not being nice.” His sister stood beside the boy, nodding up at her neighbor, a worried look on her face. 

Negan wasted no time descending  the stairs, ordering the children to go back into their house and let him handle the situation, and reassuring them everything would be fine. Their relief was palpable as they nodded at him and turned to follow his instructions. Walking up the slope of yard between the two houses, the coach heard the sound of voices, and slowed his pace before rounding the corner of the neighboring home. He stood for a moment to listen, his presence unknown by the three people outside Gigi’s front door. His neighbor was talking with two men. Both were dressed in work clothes, dress slacks and shirts. Their ties were loosened at the neck in an effort to keep cool in the humid August air. Standing too close to the woman they were questioning, they were caging her in by standing in front, but on either side of her, the house behind her further boxing her in. They were leaning in to her in an obvious effort to intimidate her. 

Negan’s hackles started to rise at his tiny dancer’s vulnerability. She was barely clothed, wearing only her swimsuit, but had pulled her beach towel around her shoulders, letting it drape down as far as the fabric would go so it would hang down her front and back and cover her as much as possible. He quelled the urge to barge into the middle of the triangle, waiting to hear what was being said.

“ … and we talked to your husband’s mother, too, Misses Sokolov, and she was very skeptical of the idea her son would take his own life. Said it wasn’t like him at all,” the shorter of the two men challenged her, a cocky Latino who was scrolling repeatedly on the screen of his cell phone as if he were skimming through pages of notes.

“Two years ago her assessment would have been accurate, but my husband wasn’t quite himself for the last year of his life, Detective Martinez. His mother must have mentioned that as well?” She relayed the tidbit of information as if her mother in law would have been remiss in not telling them about the change in her son. 

“She also brought up her concern about your relationship with a ... Mikhail Baryshnikov?” the second man, a tall African American related as if the identity of the man he had named held no importance for him.

Gigi was looking at them incredulously, her head and eyes moving from one to the other as if she were watching a game of tennis.

“Was there a suicide note, Misses Sokolov?” 

“I shared Yuri’s letter with the authorities right after he passed,” the widow informed them, a hint of annoyance in her tone. 

“Oh, I’m sure you did,” the larger man retorted, shaking his head slightly. 

“Excuse me?” Gigi objected to the man’s insinuation.

“Can we see it again?” 

They were talking at her rapid fire, almost badgering her, trying to trip her up in her responses, and Negan was getting angrier by the second. He had read enough about Yuri Sokolov’s death to know there was no question the man had taken his own life. He had overdosed on a three month supply of benzodiazepines he had hoarded after convincing his doctor he suffered from chronic insomnia as a result of his aneurysm. The football coach fumed, knowing Philip Blake had sent these goons to intimidate Gigi, and he wondered if the lawyer was crazy enough to try to start an investigation into her husband’s death. 

Negan was startled out of his thoughts by the dancer’s voice as she coolly rejected the request for her husband’s note. “No you cannot see it again, Detective Shumpert.” The coach just about shivered with excitement when she added, “Unless you have a warrant, you have no right to any of my property, and if you want to question me further it will need to be at the precinct, with my attorney present, because this conversation is over.”

 _There’s my hellion!_ Gigi’s current persona was radically different from the contrite woman Negan had encountered earlier in the day. He was now watching the same fiery little thing who’d put Blake in his place. She turned to walk to her front door as Negan moved towards the men, wanting his presence known in case they tried to continue to harass her. Chest constricting, his anger flared when Martinez’s hand suddenly reached out to grab Gigi by the elbow to stop her from leaving. 

The coach quickly learned his fear for her was unwarranted. She caught the man’s movement out of the corner of her eye. Stepping to the side to avoid his grip, her own hand shot out in a precise motion, grabbing his wrist and wrenching it painfully as she spun to face him. Her towel dropped to the ground as she moved, leaving her to continue her self defense in her swimsuit. Gigi followed up by jabbing Martinez in the throat with the meat of her palm, hard enough to stun him and knock him backwards out of her space. She was quick as fucking lightning, and clearly not to be underestimated. _Holy shit, she is fucking full of dick hardening surprises!_

The detective staggered backwards, croaking out a labored groan, and Negan wanted to laugh at the look of utter surprise on his face. The coach took the opportunity to step in front of Gigi, in case the asshole tried to retaliate, and to block as much of her as he could from the men’s view. Even though she was a fucking bad ass, she looked vulnerable with so much skin showing. She immediately bent down to pick up her towel to wrap around herself, obviously feeling exposed without it.

“Did Blake tell you it was okay to lay fucking hands on her when you came here to bully her, or did you come up with the stupid fucking idea all on your own?” he growled, drawing himself up to his full height.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, man! I didn’t fucking touch the bitch, right Shump?” Martinez rasped, staggering up to Negan, practically standing chest to chest with him. His eyes were wild as he clutched at his damaged throat. 

“Good try, shithead,” Negan countered, raising the cell phone he'd been holding in his hand. “You didn’t touch her because she didn’t let you! Your attempt to grab _Gigi Sokolov_ ,” he emphasized the famous dancer’s name, "was recorded for posterity’s sake! Oh! And look at that!” He goaded the man dramatically as he double tapped the screen with one finger, right in front of his face. “Already uploaded into the cloud in case you’re thinking about tampering with fucking evidence!” He waved the phone for emphasis and took a determined step forward, bumping his chest into the detective’s, since his camera was no longer recording. He knew there was no way in hell either of the two detectives were recording their interaction with Gigi, because they wouldn’t want the harassment on record. 

He felt Gigi close behind him before her fingers discreetly wrapped around the back of his waist, grounding him before his anger escalated further. She stayed close to him, her face and half her body visible next to him. Negan relaxed his stance slightly, pressing back into her touch to further calm himself before he ordered, “Get the fuck out of here.” Waiting until the physical threat had backed away he added, “And tell Blake if he comes at her again, I’ll beat his goddamn head into the ground with a fucking baseball bat!” 

Detective Martinez smirked, countering, “Did you just fucking threaten the next governor of our fine state, in front of two witnesses?” He motioned between himself and his partner with his index finger. “We oughta arrest you right now for threatening a public official!” He looked to his partner for support, grinning wider when the man nodded in concurrence. 

“The third witness will call you both liars,” Gigi insisted calmly. She stepped out from behind Negan and squared her shoulders as she stood next to him, intimating the two of them would act as one in the matter. Sliding the gracefully pointed toes of her closest foot in front of his in an unconscious show of protection, she continued, “It will be your word against ours, and we have a recording of your inappropriate behavior which might very well bring your allegations against him into question.”

 _I could fuck her right here on the front porch, right fucking now._ Negan laughed outright at the two men in front of him. “She’s got you there boys!” They held their ground until Martinez backed up a step, and then the coach placed himself in front of his neighbor once more until both men finally turned and walked across the grass to their car, which was parked on the road in front of the house. He refused to look away from them, wanting to be absolutely fucking sure they didn’t stir up anymore shit before they left. 

He was grateful for Gigi’s calming presence so fucking close to him, and he let out a hum of satisfaction when he felt her forehead press between his shoulder blades and her stomach gently rest against his ass as she leaned on him for physical support. He knew he needed it as much as she did. 

Normally energized after a confrontation, thriving on conflict, Negan was agitated in this instance. This particular situation had been different than any in his past because he'd felt Gigi's safety had been threatened, and her character had been called into question, both of which had enraged him. If it had just been about him, he wouldn't have hesitated to verbally and physically provoke a brawl, taking on both men if necessary. He had surprised himself, maintaining his self control, keeping her welfare his primary focus. There was no doubt in his mind though, he would have done anything to protect her, and the revelation startled him.

Once the men started their car, and drove out of sight, Negan gently pulled her hand from his lower back. Laying his on top of her smaller one, he threaded his fingers through hers and placed them both in the middle of his chest so he could feel her comforting touch, wanting more of the connection which had grounded him during the turmoil. He smiled to himself when she relaxed her body into the back of his, closing the small gap between them. 

They didn’t move for a time, drawing comfort from each other, but after hearing Gigi sniffle twice, Negan reluctantly separated from her. Turning to face her, he splayed his fingers on either side of her face, using the pads of his thumbs to wipe away tears which had started to fall. Eyes full of concern, he tilted her head back to force eye contact. “So that bad ass thing you pulled was all a fucking act?” he gently teased her. 

She nodded, the start of a smile quirking up her lips as a few more tears fell from the outside corners of her eyes. He couldn’t stop himself from gently turning her head from one side to the other so he could taste the salt of her tears, swiping at them with his lips. She was so fucking pliable, relaxed and content to let him move her as he wanted, driving him to continue his exploration once the evidence of her upset was gone. He ran his lips across her forehead and down her cheekbone, following its line down towards her mouth, touching and feeling her in his own intimate way. 

Her responses to his ministrations were audible. He heard every hitch of her breath, every hum of satisfaction, every whimper of need as her fingers gripped and released his tee shirt lightly at his sides, teasing the skin underneath in a sensual rhythm which ebbed and flowed with her verbal responses. _Fuuuuuuck._ When he finally brought his lips to hers, he didn’t touch them, but kept just enough distance so he could feel their heat as he moved along and around them, sharing her sweet breath, drawing her soft moans and cries between his parted lips, taking in as much of her as he could get without making contact, because now wasn’t the time to kiss her. Her upset was too fresh, and his anger hadn’t totally abated, and for some unknown fucking reason he didn’t want to kiss her in the middle of the cluster fuck of emotions that were running high due to their confrontation with the detectives. Now wasn’t the right moment. 

 _What the hell is wrong with me? Have I grown a fucking vagina?_ Negan pulled back to study her, her eyes fluttering open at the loss of his warmth on her lips and skin.

Eyes lighting up when she met his gaze she murmured, “Thank you, Negan. I feel much better now.” 

“Me, too, Gigi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your thoughts on this chapter would be so greatly appreciated. Thanks so much for reading, my friends!


	11. New Girl At School

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote a looong chapter. Decided to break it into two chapters. Gave you a little tease of the next chapter, which I'll post later today. Things are finally heating up! :)

_Finishing the final twenty strokes of her toothbrush up and down on the left side of her mouth at two fifteen in the morning, Gigi rinsed and dropped her toothbrush into the holder sitting on her bathroom counter then stuck her tongue out, looking at it in the mirror to be sure it was clean. Using a handful of water to swish and spit out any remaining toothpaste in her mouth, because she thought using the same decorative bathroom cup over and over without washing it was disgusting, she then splashed a cup full of water around the sink to be sure it was clean. Putting her hand in front of her mouth she smelled her breath, still finding the scent of tequila despite her vigorous brushing. She smiled at the four hour old memory of Merle tempting her with the two shots she’d ended up downing with him at the Mount Vernon’s staff’s ‘back to school’ party next door._

_Peeling off the tank top, bra and capris she’d worn to the get together at Negan’s, she dropped them into the clothes hamper in the corner before walking from the master bathroom into her bedroom in only her thong. While turning down her covers she decided she needed to change into a pair of bikinis so she wouldn’t have to sleep with a string between her cheeks all night._

_Turning around to her dresser, which sat parallel with the side of her bed, she reached into the front corner of the top left drawer to find her comfy, cotton, hot pink panties. They were always in the same spot, next to the other red and pink panties, which were next to the orange and peach panties, which were next to the yellow ones because all of her clothes were lined up in the same order as the colors of the rainbow, grouped by type, whether they were in drawers or on hangers._

_“Pssst.”_

_Gigi gasped, her head turning towards the french doors to her right, searching for the source of the faint call. Her arms hurriedly crossed over her chest to cover her bare breasts as her eyes landed on Negan outside her French doors. He was standing on her deck, his eyes moving up and down her body. She froze, her mind racing as she tried to figure out her best course of action. Her instinct was to turn her back to him and race to open the drawer in which she kept a few oversized sleep shirts, so she could pull one over her head quickly. She quelled the urge, relishing the heat in his gaze as he leered at her, not wanting it to end._

_Her heart was racing, but her body’s response to his presence in her vulnerable state wasn’t fear. Not at all. She was awash with breathtaking arousal. Gigi wanted to be bold, wanted to turn to face him, uncover herself and beckon him to her. But the woman she wanted to be was so far removed from who she'd been allowed to be for so many years, she couldn’t even conjure her ideal persona, despite two shots of tequila._

_Negan raised his hand to the door handle and stilled, wordlessly asking for permission to enter. Her heart beating wildly, she nodded before she even had the chance to give the matter any thought._

_Fuuuuuuck. Fuckity fucking fucky fuuuuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Her body was everything he’d dreamed of, every vision he’d created in his head as he’d jacked off, every fucking night since he’d first seen her in her swimsuit. It made no difference he’d seen her with most of her skin exposed. The part he’d dreamed of the most, her perfect, tight, little ass was a veritable feast for his eyes. And the titties … fuck… the tiny, beautiful fucking titties! His mouth was fucking watering at the sight of them._

_Compelled to touch her, to feel her, Negan kept his eyes on hers as he opened the door and stepped through, closing it behind himself. Whether he was successful he had no idea; he was so immersed in the physical and emotional rush to get to her. He was immensely pleased she remained still as he walked to stand behind her. Her head was the only thing which shifted, so she could watch his reflection behind her in the large mirror over the dresser in front of her. Her doe eyes were nervous, and he could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she observed him in the mirror. He loved her nervousness. He loved the extraordinary fucking idea he made her nervous._

_Settling several inches behind her, Negan’s hands were reaching for her before he willed them to do so. Spreading his fingers, he ran them lightly from her shoulder blades down to the top of her ass. Her head dropped forward, her body trembling in response. Her skin, soft and inviting, made him so fucking want to continue his run downward to knead her ass cheeks, but he could see a slight hint of concern along with her curiosity when he caught her eye in the mirror, as her chin came back up from her chest._

_“Negan, wha ….” Gigi tried to force one of the many questions running through her mind out of her mouth, but found she couldn’t, drowning in the sensations his fingers were creating as they ran up her sides and across her shoulders. It had been so long since she’d be touched so gently, and she was sure she had never been touched so reverently. Her head lolled slightly to the side and then forward, her eyes drifting shut and back open as he caressed her, his touch intoxicating, leaving her with the desire for much more. More of his touch. More of everything he was willing to give. She wanted it all._

_Running the fingers of one hand tenderly up the back of her neck, he threaded them through her hair before he gently grabbed her tresses, pulling her head back to force her to look at him in the reflection of the mirror. Something feral stirred deep inside him at how she let him move her, manipulate her, totally relaxed in his grip._

_“Ask me, Gigi,” Negan tilted her head to the side to murmur in her ear, grazing his lips down and back up her neck, the soft cry which fell from her lips intensifying his hunger._

_"What are you doing here?" she finally managed to question him, the words coming out in a gush of breath._

_“It’s ‘someday’, Gigi.”_

____________

Mount Vernon’s new physical education teacher had a sense of deja vu as she walked into the cafeteria on Friday, for the staff luncheon, hoping she wasn’t going to end up eating alone in a room full of people. It took her back in time to her first day of seventh grade at her new junior high school, when she had walked around with her tray of food for ten minutes, looking for an open seat. Luckily a girl from her home room had taken pity on her, inviting Gigi to sit at a table with her and her friends. 

The rest of the school’s teaching staff had started back to work in the morning, finally joining the two phys ed teachers who had been holding practices for the past two weeks. Gigi had stopped to get latte for everyone in her department, leaving a cup outside of everyone’s office door. Each had a cheery note on a napkin, written in purple Sharpie, about how she couldn’t wait to meet them. Of course there was a smiley face, for all of them. She’d thought about drawing a heart on Negan’s napkin, but had decided to draw a caricature instead, smiling at the memory of their moment on her front porch. Calling on her respectable art skills, she’d drawn herself in her bathing suit and toe shoes, one leg kicking out towards two men in ties. A tall man with a close shaven beard and mustache was standing to the side, his eyes wide as he watched, a super hero’s red cape flowing on an unseen breeze, behind him. She’d added a speech bubble over his head with “What a badass!” written inside. Underneath the picture she had written, “Thank you for saving me!” with a tiny heart dotting the exclamation point for good measure. Pleased with her art work and her message, she’d dropped off his coffee last and made her way to the gym to start her day. She had given her cheerleaders the day off since she would be in meetings for several hours. She had to be in a departmental meeting in the morning, a luncheon, and a meeting with the entire staff in the afternoon. Gigi was excited to meet everyone, and to see Carol, who would be coming back to work today with the rest of the teachers. She hadn’t seen her friend since Yuri’s funeral.  

She had been running through a new routine when two women had come through the doors, stopping to introduce themselves and thank her for her their drinks. Michonne Hawthorne was a beautiful, dark skinned woman with dreads swept to one side, sleek and glamorous despite her athletic build. Tara Chambler was her opposite, her dark hair framing a light olive complexion which was void of makeup. She was cute and down to earth, sporting a tiny bun on either side of the back of her crown.

“Was that one of Mount Vernon’s new cheers?” Tara had asked Gigi, referring to the moves the new coach had been performing when they’d walked into the gym. 

“If so, you’re going to shake things up at state competition in October,” Michonne predicted with a smile. 

“I hope so,” Gigi had confessed. “I’ve watched too many boring competition videos online. I really want to break our squads away from the cookie cutter routines where everyone stands around waiting to do a tumbling run while music plays in the background. I want my squads to dance _and_ tumble! Even in competition.”

“Sounds awesome,” had been Tara’s reply. “All the routines really do start to look the same after you’ve seen a few of them. Tumble, tumble, hand clap, hand clap, tumble, throw someone in the air, tumble … ” The girls’ lacrosse coach feigned boredom, adding a fake yawn with a fist in front of her mouth as she described the typical cheerleading routine. 

“Right?” Michonne had nodded her head in concurrence. 

“Hey,” Tara looked at her watch, then at the two women. “What time is our meeting with our illustrious department head?”

“Eleven.” 

“Let’s hope he’s had an attitude adjustment since last year,” Michonne complained, shaking her head.

“No kidding. He’s barely tolerable when he’s in a good mood,” Tara explained to the newest staff member. “At the end of last year, he was downright foul. I think all the teachers in our department were relieved when he stopped working before the end of the year.”

While Gigi knew first hand how difficult Negan could be, she couldn’t help feeling defensive about the likely reason for his exceptionally foul mood. “Oh, I’ve already had some run ins with the man,” she’d commiserated. gently. “But I’m sure watching his wife suffer must have been hard for him,” Carol had told her about his wife’s cancer, and she’d felt even more of a sense of kinship with her neighbor, understanding what he’d been through.  “Even when you try to stay upbeat, it’s wearing.”

The other two women had been awkwardly silent as they stared at her, taking a moment to process her defense of the football coach. They were clearly unaware of Yuri’s death, making her sorry she’d spoken up, She didn’t want a discussion or any sympathy about the matter and she also didn’t want to alienate these women. 

“I’m sorry, Gigi,” Tara apologized. “I shouldn’t kick him when he’s down. He can be such an asshole at times, it’s hard to remember he’s human.” 

Michonne had huffed out a laugh, chiding, “Great apology, woman.” Turning to the new teacher she explained, “We shouldn’t have been bad mouthing Negan.” After a pause she’d added, “We shouldn’t have been gossiping at all.”

“No worries, ladies,” Gigi had reassured them with a smile. “I know first hand what a pain he can be. Trust me. And I do love good gossip!”

Picking right up on her admission, Tara had leaned in to her and murmured out of the side of her mouth, side eyeing Michonne, “You’re going to tell me all about those run ins you mentioned, right?” 

“Tara!” her friend admonished her, as the new girl laughed at their antics.

 _______

Negan was sitting at a table in the cafeteria with a handful of men, his buddy Simon extolling the virtues of ranch life in Montana. “Other than the permanent chafing on the inside of my thighs from horseback riding, it was fantastic! Fresh air, mom’s good cooking, and my little misses was nice and relaxed, so I got laid _aplenty_!” 

The other men at the table nodded their heads, someone piping in, “Nice!” in validation. 

“Was it good sex? Or hurry up and get it over with sex?” Merle queried, stealing a cannoli off Negan’s plate and stuffing it in his mouth.

After giving the man the hairy eyeball, Negan scanned the room, watching other staff members filter in, finally spotting Gigi walking into the room by herself. 

“Oh it was the gooood sex!” Simon responded with a wink, as the football coach turned back to him.

Their conversation was interrupted by a woman’s voice, calling across the room, “Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou, oh Romeo?” 

Negan was equally pissed and horrified, recognizing the voice as that of his neighbor. _What in the flying fuck?! She wouldn’t … she didn’t … fuck! I should have known there was a fucking psycho hiding in her tiny body! I didn’t even fucking kiss her and she’s acting all fucking love sick? Stalking me at work? Shit!_ He ignored her greeting, grabbing a potato chip from his plate. “Hey! Happy hour at my place again tonight?” _Fuck. We should go to the Kozy Keg since Glenn Close might show up at my house with her fucking rabbit stew. Shit!_ “Maybe we should go out this week …”

His suggestion trailed off as the response to Juliet’s query rung out from the other side of the room, “Ahh, fair Juliet! Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?” The overly dramatic timber of Ezekiel Evans, the head of Mount Vernon’s drama department called back to Gigi. The room had quieted, including the men at Negan’s table as their heads turned to take in the scene playing out on the other side of the room. He didn't know what fuck was going on, but he was relieved he wasn't the object of her Shakespearean affection.  

“What the hell?” Merle muttered under his breath.

“Good fucking question,” Negan responded as Ezekiel fucking leapt and pranced over to Gigi on his fucking toes. _Fucking girly man._ The new cheerleading coach proceeded to join him in a ten second pas de deux which ended with flare, Zeke lifting her by the waist to rest her lower back on his shoulder. The new PE teacher extended one leg vertically above his shoulder, the other parallel to the ground, while nimbly lowering her head back so far it practically hit her partner in the ass. 

Ezekiel set her down with ease, the two of them immediately breaking into laughter over the amateurish impromptu ballet they'd obviously performed together before. Pulling Zeke in for a hug, she squealed in delight, “I can’t believe you work here!” 

 _Jesus Christ._ Negan rolled his eyes as the room broke out in applause, everyone murmuring about the new cheerleading coach. _Glad she’s not a fucking psycho. Just an attention whore._

 _“Bravo!”_ Simon called over the din dramatically. _“Bravo, my little inamoratas!”_ Turning to his buddy he asked, “Who’s the hot little number?”

The football coach ignored his friend, watching the interaction between the fucking drama queen and his neighbor. It was clear they were excited over their unexpected reunion, and he wondered how they knew each other. Obviously they had danced together at some point, to some awful fucking choreography. 

“She’s the new PE teacher,” Shane answered the track coach’s question. “I need to bend her in half, man. I’m tellin’ you. It obviously can be done.” He waved his index finger in an arc, referring to her final pose with the drama teacher. “If she can do it backward, she definitely can do it forward.” 

“A lady who’s classy tastes so much sweeter when she’s nasty,” Merle recited. “Mm, mm, mmm.”

Negan couldn’t stop himself from bragging, “Oh she is _definitely_ flexible,” as he pictured her stretching in the hall earlier in the week, her legs spread and pulled up towards her chest in a V while she pushed her ankles towards the floor with her fingertips. 

He didn’t see the other men's heads snapping up to look at him curiously, wondering how he knew, because he was intent on his neighbor across the room. After standing for a few minutes with Ezekial’s hands in hers while they spoke animatedly, Gigi virtually bounced across the room with him tow to hug Carol Peletier as she entered the cafeteria, and the two women walked arm in arm with Rasta man, talking excitedly. Negan didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about, but Gigi’s mouth and hands were moving a mile a minute, very gracefully of course, her friends captivated by the conversation as she looked back and forth between them, speaking with both. By the time they got to the buffet line, there were a few more people Gigi’s group had picked up on the way, and she managed to engage each and every fucking one of them as Eugene held her plate so she could spoon food onto it. 

 _You have got to be fucking kidding me._ Other that their meeting with Blake, he’d never seen her interact with anyone other than her students and himself. She was drawing people to her, and she interacted with each person she met as if they were fascinating, and their words were the most interesting of any she’d ever heard. The kicker was, she was absolutely fucking genuine. He knew first hand there was nothing phony or pretentious about her. _What you see is what you fucking get._

Negan’s scrutiny of the dancer didn’t go unnoticed, Merle honing in on the fact as the football coach watched her flit around the room. “Hey, lover boy,” he taunted the man. “You gonna invite your girlfriend to the get together tonight, or is it a boy’s club thing?” 

“Fuck you, Merle.” 

“Not today. My hemorrhoids are acting up,” was the groundskeeper’s retort. “And you didn’t answer my question, dickhead.”

“We’ll see.” 

“Come on, man!” Shane prodded the party’s host, slightly agitated his coworker seemed to have the hots for his next mark. He’d sweep her right out from under Negan’s nose if he had to. “Let’s have our big back to school party tonight! Christ, there’ll be enough food left over here. We can just move it to your place! I’ll load it in the back of my truck.” He needed to get his hooks into the cheerleading coach before her neighbor got the chance. Who would be able to resist a widower? _Feelin’ all sorry for him and shit._ A party would be the perfect opportunity to snag his prize.

“Alright,” Negan acquiesced. “but we’re not inviting the fucking science department, other than Eugene. I don’t want them blowing up my fucking dock again after one _sex on the beach_.” The disgust in his voice over the teachers’ drink choice was clear. There was still a black stain on his deck from the chemical experiment gone awry, and he’d heard that Milton Mamet was still having difficulties hearing out of his left ear. “And I don’t want that psychology teacher who’s always picking her teeth there, either. She turns my fucking stomach.” 

“Hell, no!” Abraham gave a shudder of distaste, Simon joining him in the physical sentiment. 

“I’m definitely gonna invite your crush Olivia, Merle,” Negan teased his buddy.

“Hey, don’t make fun, asshole. I like a lotta cushion so I can go hard on the pushin’.” 

A rowdy chorus of affirmation went up in response to the comment. 

________

Gigi was in her element, talking with her new coworkers. They had taken over one of the long tables with bench seats on either side, and she’d chosen a seat in the center so she would be able to see and hear everyone. _Such nice people!_ Having finished her salad with a tablespoon of vinaigrette and her steamed green beans, she headed back to the buffet to see if there was any low carb fruit for dessert. 

Putting three chunks of cantaloupe and four strawberries on her plate, she stayed away from the higher sugar choices like pineapple and watermelon, wondering if she’d had enough salad to balance the carbs on her plate. She eyed a platter of cupcakes next to the fruit platter, starting her usual internal discussion about whether she should take one or not, trying to convince herself a half a cupcake wouldn’t throw her diet off. _Maybe one bite?_ You have to treat yourself sometimes, she reasoned with a frown. _Okay, how about one fingerful of frosting?_

“Fruit for dessert, Coach Sokolov?” Negan teased her, sidling up next to her and resting his hand on her lower back, deliberately claiming her for that fucker Walsh to see. “Come on, Gigi. One cupcake won’t kill you.” 

“Cupcake? What’s a cupcake?” she joked, sounding perplexed.  “I vaguely recall cupcakes from my childhood, but I’ve been on a low glycemic diet since I was twenty, so I think I’ve suppressed the memory of anything with icing. _You see zis, Gigi?”_ She suddenly mimicked a thick, harsh Russian accent as she reached down and pinched the outside of her thigh with her free hand.  “ _Zis jeegles when you move. Work on it!_ When you are called out by Baryshinikov in front of a group of your fellow dancers, you make sure it doesn’t happen again.” 

“Jesus, what a dick.”

“No, not really,” she defended Misha. “He knew what the expectations were for prima ballerinas, even if they were extreme. Our audience didn’t want to see me jiggle. I ate one can of tuna a day for a month to lose the jiggle. I ended up ninety four pounds, soaking wet.” 

“And you haven’t had a cupcake since? Even since you stopped dancing?” He picked up one of the beautifully decorated pastries he had bought at the bakery on the way to work, peeled down the wrapper and took a hefty bite, groaning in appreciation. “So sad for you.” 

Gigi frowned at him in mock upset for several seconds as he savored his dessert. Leaning into him with a surge of courage and a sly grin, she queried lowly, “Perhaps if I lick your lips I would get a little taste?” 

 _Fuuuuck me!_ She walked away before Negan could pull himself together to respond, leaving him staring at the empty spot where she’d stood. 

Turning to watch her walk back to her table, he was startled when he came face to face with Rosita, and he groaned inwardly. He hadn’t talked to the woman since he’d broken things off with her in the spring, having avoided her at work until he’d taken leave to care for Lucille. He had no idea what the fuck to say to her. 

“Hi Negan … ” She sported a smile which rivaled the Cheshire Cat’s, moving to stand too close to him. 

 _Oh, fucking, no._ The coach deliberately took a step backwards, letting her and anyone else who might be watching know he didn’t want her in his space. 

“I wanted to tell you how sorry I was to hear about your wife,” the woman offered, managing to make her sentiment sound heartfelt. 

Negan wasn’t buying it. “Thanks, Rosita,” he looked over his former mistress, wondering what the fuck he’d ever seen in her. At one time he’d thought she was hot, but her view of Lucille’s cancer as an inconvenience for her and their affair had flipped a switch in him, ending any attraction he’d had to her and leaving him with a bad taste in his mouth. 

“I’ve been thinking about you all summer,” the Latina continued, taking a half step towards him. 

The football coach raised his eyebrows at her, and cocked his head, waiting for her to back the fuck up the half step before he responded cockily, “Women tell me that all the time. Can’t say as I blame them.”

“Come on, Negan.” She rolled her eyes at the egotistical remark.  “You know what I mean. I’ve been worried about you. Wondering how you’re doing after … everything.” 

“After everything? You mean after my wife died? I’m doing just fine, Rosita,” he informed her.

“Well if you ever get lonely, or need someone to talk to …” she stepped towards him again, reaching out to touch his arm.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Shaking his head with an expression which reflected his disgust, he turned and walked away from her.


	12. Someday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re a good man, Negan, for making sure I’m not acting impulsively, but I knew I what I wanted long before I took those shots of tequila tonight.” Summoning all the bravery she could muster, one of her arms dropped from covering her chest. She proceeded to thread her fingers between his and then guide his hand over the lace of her thong and down to the satin fabric covering her folds, before she let go.
> 
> 'Oooh. Aren’t we fucking bold?' he thought to himself. Gigi’s eyes belied her daring. Every fucking thing about her tense posture, her inability to uncover herself fully for him, and the trace of worry in her eyes even as she moved his hand all screamed insecurity. He fucking adored it all, feeling the need to reward her courage.

Negan’s deck, yard and dock were full of people, some spilling over onto Gigi’s lot. Mount Vernon’s Back To School Happy Hour Extrava-fucking-ganza, as it had been named a few years before, was in full swing. A good time was being had by all, the sounds of laughter and chatter filling the air. What had started as a simple happy hour get together a decade before for the men of Mount Vernon’s phys ed department, had grown into a celebration for the entire staff of the school. Everyone was there, minus the science department, due to the unfortunate fucking dock incident two years prior, and minus the tooth picker. If the football coach was going to host the huge, pain in the fucking ass gathering, he had the right to dictate who was allowed to attend. 

Despite the work involved, the football coach actually enjoyed hosting parties at his home. They had become more of a pain in the ass, though, since he no longer had Lucille’s help with cooking and cleaning. Parties used to seem so effortless. He realized now, it had seemed so because she had done most of the work. 

There was something satisfying in knowing people were having a good time, and he had a thing for plying people with alcohol and watching their drunk asses in action. A person’s true colors came out when they were inebriated. He would consider the get together a success if someone passed out, or threw up on his lawn.

He performed his due diligence, mingling and chatting, and at some point realized he was inadvertently tailing Gigi as he made his rounds to talk to all of his guests who weren’t assholes. It was if she was fucking magnetized. He’d made several concerted efforts to move away from her, so he wouldn’t look like a fucking creeper, but he always ended up back within a ten foot radius of her where, interestingly, he could hear her snippets of conversations with other people.  

Taking a break from participating in mindless chit chat, he looked around for his dancer and spotted her talking with Merle a few feet away. It amused Negan the two had become so buddy-buddy, always deep in personal conversation despite the fact they came from totally separate worlds. What didn’t fucking amuse him was the man wasn’t sharing his intel about the ballerina. “Find out your own damn self,” he’d advised Negan when he had asked what the groundskeeper had learned about Gigi during their conversations.

Merle's relationship with the dancer interested Negan because on the outside, they would seem to be night and day. The redneck had grown up in a trailer park, with an abusive, alcoholic father. He’d dropped out of high school, and after a few run ins with the law and a few years in juvie for assault when he was a teen, he had decided to get his shit together and try to follow the straight and narrow. He’d gotten his high school equivalency certificate, and had ended up working at Mount Vernon. He still lived on the same lot at his family’s trailer park in Manassas, Virginia. With money he’d saved, he’d torn down the decrepit structure of his teenage years and bought himself a double wide, which he shared with Daryl. 

From what the football coach had read about Gigi, she grew up in a happy, healthy suburban household before she was recruited into one of the most prestigious ballet companies in the nation, and spent most of her married years living the high life in upper Manhattan. She had money coming out of her ass, and was besties with the likes of Mikhail Baryshnikov. But there she was, all up in Merle’s space, talking and laughing with him, Negan was sure, just as she would with her uppity ass ballet friends, talking with a man many of the teachers at their school never thought to reach out to, because he wasn’t on their level. _Fuck them._  

“When my brother died, and we adopted Hannah and Marshall, we decided to leave New York and move into their family house in Annandale to care for them. They didn’t need anymore upheaval in their life after losing their parents, you know?”

“So ya left yer New York penthouse behind and moved to the suburbs of DC to make it easier on them? Those kids are damn lucky to have an aunt like you.” 

Gigi shook her head. “It was just the right thing to do because I love them, Merle. Just like you took care of Daryl after your mother died. You felt it in here, right?” she touched her fingertips to her heart, causing the groundskeeper to nod thoughtfully. Negan admired both of them for putting family first. He wouldn’t know what that was like. His amazing wife had put him first, always, but his mother and father had both been self absorbed, their own problems outweighing any need to nuture their son. 

He found himself a little fucking bothered Merle knew more about his neighbor than he did. Other than their conversation about her dancing, they’d been so busy sparring with each other, Negan knew nothing about her other than what he’d read and what he’d observed from his deck. 

He walked away from the pair’s conversation, but kept his eye on Gigi, stopping to talk to with this person and that, constantly scanning the crowd for her, pleased when she was close by. He kinda fucking liked catching her doing the same a few times after she’d moved to talk to someone new, and once her eyes would catch his, she would stop her search and go back to giving her full attention to her conversation. She would give him a smile. He would give her a nod or a wink, and they went about their business. There was definitely some serious fucking flirting going on as he continued to listen and learn.

_________ 

“Every year I whip up what I call my ‘spring cleaning casserole’. I can make miracles happen with water chestnuts.”

“I bet you can! Your recipe, for cola canned ham? Mrs. Peletier, you are an honest to goodness hero!” Maria, one of the school's cafeteria workers, praised. “Pedro’s work gives him one every year at Christmas and I could never make anything decent out of it before you gave me that recipe.”

“Please. Call me Carol.”

“She is the best cook!” Gigi gushed about her friend. “She kept me from starving when we lived together in New York.”

“Really? You two lived together?” 

“We did,” Carol confirmed, squeezing Gigi’s hand, her affection for her friend in her eyes. “For three years when we first started dancing.” 

“You two danced? What kind of dance?” Maria questioned.

Negan hadn’t known his neighbor and the home economics teacher had lived together. Their relationship was deeper than sharing dance classes and rehearsals.  

________

“You know you probably haven’t had a minute to relax since your husband got sick. If you ever need someone to take you out and show you a good time ….” 

“Thanks, Shane, but I think this get together is the most excitement I’ll be able to handle for awhile.”

“Anytime, Gigi. The offer stands.”

 _If he fucking runs his finger up her forearm one more time I’m going to fucking pummel him!_ Luckily her conversation with the man was short, negating the need for Negan to beat him senseless.

_______

“I was attacked one night when I was walking home from dance rehearsal. The man tried to grab my purse and run, but I wouldn’t let him have it. He ended up holding my arm,” Gigi grabbed her own bicep to demonstrate. “So he could hold me in place while he punched me a few times to get me to I’d let go. I wasn’t strong enough to fight back, or get out of his grip,”  the ballerina revealed to Paul Rovia, Mount Vernon’s soccer coach. “A good friend paid for me take self defense lessons so I’d be able to hold my own if something like that ever happened again.” She turned the conversation to her coworker. “How about you? What made you decide to start martial arts training?” 

“I grew up in a group home, and I was kind of scrawny. Between that and being gay, I was constantly bullied by the other kids, and being pushed around by people on the street,” Paul explained as Gigi reached out to squeeze his hand in sympathy, her concern for him written all over her face. “So as soon as I was able, I started taking martial arts lessons at the local gym. It wasn’t long before people stopped messing with me.”

“Well I think the idea of us teaching a self defense class in the evenings, once a week is amazing!”

“Great! You think you’ll be able to fit it in around cheerleading and dance?”

“Oh I know I can! We can talk next week and figure out the logistics.”

“Perfect! You want to get some dinner, or a drink one night after work so we can go over what we’ll cover?”

“That would be fantastic!” Gigi squeezed Paul’s arm in her excitement. 

_Good thing he’s gay, or I’d fucking throttle him, after I pummel Walsh. Come to think of it, the little black belt might kick my fucking ass if I tried._

_________

“It was so heavy I was changing my super tampons four times a day. And the cramps. Oh. My. God,” Tara moaned dramatically as Gigi nodded in sympathy.

“Mine used to be like that, too, until I had a baby,” Maggie informed her.

“Wow. That helped?” Tara’s face lit up at the prospect.

“Oh, yeah. No more cramps!”

_Way more fucking information than I need to know._

________

“I’m going to tell him tomorrow, when Sophia is at her sleepover.” Carol apprised Gigi, glancing around to be sure no one was listening. When she caught Negan’s eye, he gave a small smile and quickly moved his eyes around the crowd as if he was looking for someone. 

“That worries me Carol,” his neighbor countered. “How do you think he’s going to respond?”

“I think the prospect of the money is going to offset his anger over my leaving.”

“What if it doesn’t? Are you sure you don’t want me there?” Gigi offered. “Even if I’m not in the house, I can have my car running outside, or we could come up with a signal so I know to call the police?”

_What the fuck? No you should not fucking be there when her husband loses his shit!_

________

After dancing around his neighbor for a time, Negan finally joined her and Ezekiel as they conversed. “So how do you two know each other?” he inquired. “It was obvious your little dance in the cafeteria was well rehearsed, even if it did suck.” The melodramatic tone he used ensured his critique was funny, instead of offensive.

The two laughed, Gigi admitting, “Yes it did! But when we choreographed and performed it our junior year for our highschool talent show, we were convinced our combination drama and ballet, with a hint of modern dance, was revolutionary!”

“Oh, God! We did, didn’t we?” Zeke laughed heartily at their naivete, the other two joining him. 

“Zeke was the only male in dance class and dance club. He and I partnered a _lot_. There were twenty something girls and Zeke, so he had to partner with every one of us, which I know he just hated.”

“ _Hated_ it,” the man bemoaned sarcastically. “Ahhh, those were the days!  Holding one beautiful girl after the other, in my arms.” 

“No fucking doubt!” Negan affirmed.

________

“So I talked to my lawyer, like you suggested. I called her to fill her in on Detective Martinez and Shumpert’s visit.” Gigi had made her way around to Negan, catching him when he was alone. They stood next to the trees at the edge of his property, away from the mass of people who were congregating in the center. 

“What did he say?” Negan found it strange she had an attorney she used so often she referred to him as “my lawyer”. 

“She,” Gigi gently corrected Negan. “Her name is Andrea. I wanted to check with her to see if she thought Philip Blake could stir up some sort of investigation into Yuri’s death.”

“And?”

“Luckily, she doesn’t think he’d be stupid enough to drag me through the mud, unless he has some pretty damning evidence that his death was caused by something other than suicide,” she explained, both frustration and sadness in her tone. “There is none. He knows he’d be opening himself up to a civil suit for defamation of character, and the fact he and I butted heads about his daughter would make his investigation look suspicious. 

“Good,” Negan replied, glad her concern had been alleviated.

“The coroner ruled the death as suicide. Once the police read the suicide note there were no further questions,” she relayed, the memory obviously stirring up negative emotions. She paused for a moment to calm herself and continued, “They never acted like they suspected foul play.” Gigi paused again, trying to ward off the tears which were threatening to fall. “The thought of anyone thinking I would harm my husband ...” she shook her head, huffing out a breath in despair. She took a deep breath, her tone suddenly changing to one more positive as she apologized, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought this up in the middle of a party. I just wanted to let you know what the attorney said, after you suggested I contact her.”

“No worries,” Negan reassured her gently.  “Gigi, don’t let that asshole bother you. Your lawyer is right. I’m sure Blake was just trying to rattle you by sending those goons here to question you.” He studied her in light of the tiki torches he’d lit when the sun had set, wondering thoughtfully, “A suicide note, huh? That must’ve been hard to read.” 

The pain was evident in her eyes when she admitted, “I haven’t read it yet. Does that make me a horrible person? I had to give it to the police before I had the chance to read it. They gave it back after they documented it, and I tucked it into a drawer. I haven’t been able to look at it since.”

He knew she was looking to him for validation, because she felt he might be able to relate to her avoidance. “No, Gigi. You haven’t read the letter for the same reason I haven’t been able to clear Lucille’s stuff out of our bedroom. You’re not ready yet.” He had the urge to reach out and touch her, or pull her into his arms, but he stopped himself, knowing he didn’t want anyone to see the intimate gesture. Besides wanting to avoid being fodder for the school’s rumor mill, he and Gigi were sharing something only they could understand. No one else deserved the fucking privilege of peeking into their exclusive club. 

Once again her big, beautiful eyes were looking up at him as she sympathized, her voice full of emotion, yet soft and comforting, “Oh, Negan! I don’t know which would be harder for you. Clearing out her things, which would feel like a betrayal because you would be setting her aside, or the pain of walking into a room every day which is full of reminders she’s no longer there ...” 

He was startled when he had to look away from her, her words like a punch to his gut. He’d been having a conversation with himself for weeks about why he couldn’t bring himself to pack up Lucille’s things and remove them from the bedroom. His frustration over his inability to complete the simple task grew as each week passed. He hadn’t understood why it seemed  insurmountable, until the very wise woman gazing up at him had looked into his fucking mind and put the fucked up, jumbled mess she found there into words. 

“I’ve been sleeping on the couch a lot,” he shared with the empty space to his left, because he couldn’t fucking look at her yet. Negan hadn’t thought about why he’d continued to sleep in the family room most nights, even after the need to be there for Lucille no longer existed.

Gigi watched his profile, reading his upset, even as he tried to hide it. His eyes wandered, though she was sure they weren’t seeing a thing, and his nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. She had been standing in front of him, but impelled to comfort him she moved to stand on his right side, so as not to force herself into his line of vision. She stood quietly, looking out over the party in front of them. Discreetly raising her hand, she laid it gently on his back, rubbing it with her thumb. Negan immediately relaxed into her touch, the tense posture he’d taken on disappearing as he let out let out a long slow breath, finally turning to look at her. Not wanting to overdo, the dancer stepped back in front of him so they could continue their conversation when he was ready. 

One simple fucking touch of her hand and he felt better. _I am in so much fucking trouble with this one._  

__________

Negan’s phone vibrated as he stood on the deck, looking down at the women on the lawn below. The party had thinned out, and the remaining guests had separated into groups. The men were conversing around the table on the deck, while the women had moved down to the yard. They’d pulled several lawn chairs into a circle and were talking enthusiastically, obviously feeling a little loose from the alcohol they’d consumed. Hoots and hollers and laughter were reaching up to him, making him chuckle with them as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

**12:30 AM Merle**

_Get your ass downstairs._

_Come outside through_

_the basement sliders._

 

The phone vibrated again, another message popping up on the screen.

 

**12:30 AM  Merle**

_Be quiet about it._

 

“Hey fellas, I’ll be back,” he excused himself, heading through the house and down to his basement. He almost flipped the light switch on at the bottom of the steps, but remembering Merle’s warning, he decided to leave the lights off, so as not to draw attention to himself. 

Negan made his way to the sliding glass doors which lead to the patio under the deck, sliding one open just far enough so he could fit through the gap. Stepping into the darkness outside, he looked from side to side for Merle. A soft noise to his right caught his attention, from an area void of illumination from the torches. He quietly walked towards the source of the sound, barely making out his friend’s form in the darkness. A roar of laughter went up from the women in the yard as Negan leaned against the wall next to his friend, wondering what the fuck he was up to. 

“Just listen,” the groundskeeper murmured during the din, so only his buddy would hear.

Negan turned his attention to the conversation going on fifteen feet in front of him. They were in the perfect position to eavesdrop, hidden in the shadows. 

“... And he expected to get laid? Is he kidding me? Maybe I’d have the energy if I didn’t have to come home from work, cook dinner, start the laundry and then pick up all his stuff from around the house before bed,” Michonne complained. 

“Men! They really are clueless,” Lori Grimes, commiserated. The principal’s wife didn’t teach at the Mount Vernon, but she always attended after school functions with her husband. Negan had always wondered if it was in support, or to keep an eye on him. 

“No kidding. My boyfriend gripes about how he never gets any action, but he’s not smart enough to realize if I had an orgasm every time we had sex, like _he_ does, I’d be doing cartwheels into the bedroom every night at six o’clock,” Sasha Williams, from the business education department, complained. 

She high-fived Michonne, whose hand had whipped up into the air faster than lightning in support of the woman’s claim. “Amen to that!” she exclaimed. “I mean, how hard is it to figure out? It’s common sense, right?” She looked around the circle of women for confirmation. 

Negan nudged Merle in the dark, his friend elbowing him back, pointing at the principal’s wife, who was nodding in agreement, along with the other women. They’d struck gold in their eavesdropping. _Fuck! I missed Gigi’s response._ The dancer was sitting across from him, and he had a perfect view of her, her knees gracefully pulled up to her chest, feet on the seat of her chair as she listened to the discussion around her. 

“They’re not going to figure it out because they’re _men_ ,” Tara chimed in knowingly. “You guys all need to start batting for my team. I’m telling you, women never leave you hanging like men do.”

Negan couldn’t help the small groan which escaped him at the thought of some girl on girl action. He wondered if Tara was into threesomes and if she was possibly bisexual. Her partner wasn’t his type, though. His thoughts were interrupted by a back hand to his ribs from his fellow spy, who hushed him quietly as the women all murmured in agreement. 

“I was just telling my sister the other day how it amazes me that it’s _expected_ for a woman to bring a man to orgasm with a great blow job, or a great lay,” Lori confided. “But when a man makes a woman come, the reaction is _‘He’s so talented!’_ These lips of mine could win the million on _America’s Got Talent,_ but do I get any recognition for it?”

_Oooh. How fucking talented are those lips Misses Grimes?_

The crowd called out a collective “Nooooo!”, and the football coach noted how Gigi laughed, her eyes wide at the woman’s admission. 

“And tell me this, ladies,” Michonne prompted the group, “How many times have you given your man a blow job, or and hand job to satisfy him, and expected _nothing_ in return? Just because you wanted to? A hand job in he shower,” she went on to describe, “a blow job before you fall asleep at night … ” Some raised their hands in the air, while the others affirmed with a “Me!” or nodded, as Gigi did. 

_Good fucking girl! My good fucking girl._

Michonne nodded in approval as she continued, “Now tell me, how many of your men have _ever_ gone down on you, or brought you to orgasm somehow, without expecting something in return? How many of them made _you_ come, then kissed you goodnight and rolled over and went to sleep, content to simply satisfy _you_?” She looked from person to person, waiting for someone to respond. There was absolute silence as the women looked around to see if they were missing a positive response. After several seconds of quiet, they erupted in laughter over their shared plight.

“So frustrating! But talking about it doesn’t change a thing. I’ve discussed the lack of gender equality in our bedroom with Pedro,” Maria shared, the group laughing at her use of the catch phrase. “But it fell on deaf ears!”

“I’m serious guys, lesbian is the way to go. Unlike men, women actually listen when you talk …”

“But I like penises! The lesbian thing won’t cut it for me,” Rosita laughingly argued with Tara, a “Me, too!” called out by someone Negan couldn’t see.

“So I guess those of us who prefer the male anatomy are doomed to live a life full of sexual frustration!” Olivia lamented, pushing her glasses up her nose with her index finger. A collective sigh filled the air in response. 

Gigi looked around the group commanding, “Come on! Have a little faith, ladies! Someday that selfless man, who takes as much pleasure in his lover’s orgasm as his own, is going to come along.” She nodded her head as she looked at the other women in the group, firmly convinced of her assertion.

“You are so optimistic!”

“You really think that man exists?” 

“I do!” the new girl reiterated. “But I also think women tend to settle for less than what we deserve, instead of speaking up about what we really want,” the cheerleading coach added, throwing some of the responsibility for the women’s dissatisfaction, back on them.

“She’s got a point there, girls!” Sasha teased her friends.

“Sounds like you’re waiting on that perfect man too, Gigi?” Tara inquired. “Wait, are you single?”

“I am,” Gigi laughed at the woman’s confused expression. It was so hard to know how much people knew about her. It depended on whether they were ballet fans, or paid attention to the entertainment news. “I’m recently single, so I need to believe a fantastically selfless, amazing lover will magically fall into my bed someday!” 

“For Gigi!” Lori held her beer bottle in the air for a toast. “Here’s to someday!” 

“To someday!” the dancer laughed, raising her plastic party cup of wine in the air before tapping the rim of her cup to Carol’s, who sat next to her. 

_Oh, sweetheart. Your someday is right around the fucking corner._

_______

"What are you doing here?" she finally managed to ask him, the words coming out in a gush of breath.

“It’s ‘someday’, Gigi.” 

Negan wanted to chuckle at the bewilderment on her face as she pieced together what he was talking about. Her bedroom eyes were still on his when she gasped in recognition of his words. _Bingo!_

Keeping his grip on her hair, because he seriously fucking liked the feel of dominating her, he stepped closer, molding himself to her back. His mind was in overdrive, contemplating everything he wanted to do with her, but he could still see something in her eyes that he couldn’t put a finger on. Just a hint of worry, or hesitation. 

“Are you drunk, Gigi?” he questioned her softly, having seen her shooting tequila with Merle a few hours before. When she shook her head in response he prodded, “Are you buzzed?” because he’d be damned if he’d take advantage of her if she was inebriated. 

“Just a little,” she replied honestly, moaning as he skimmed his fingers from her belly button down to the lace at the top of her thong, toying with the edge of it. 

While Gigi appreciated the reason for his line of questioning, she knew exactly what she wanted. Staring into his eyes in their reflection, she was still for a moment, considering how to let him know her desire wasn’t a result of the alcohol she’d consumed. _Tell him._

“You’re a good man, Negan, for making sure I’m not acting impulsively, but I knew I what I wanted long before I took those shots of tequila tonight.” Summoning all the bravery she could muster, one of her arms dropped from covering her chest.  She proceeded to thread her fingers between his and then guide his hand over the lace of her thong and down to the satin fabric covering her folds, before she let go.

 _Oooh. Aren’t we fucking bold?_ Gigi’s eyes belied her daring. Every fucking thing about her tense posture, her inability to uncover herself fully for him, and the trace of worry in her eyes even as she moved his hand, all screamed insecurity. He fucking adored it all, feeling the need to reward her courage.

He lightly dragged his index and middle fingers forward and back on the silky fabric. Panting with each pass, his girl dropped her head back, resting it on his collarbone as her eyes fluttered closed at the sensation. He kept his caresses light and teasing, enjoying her soft mewling. Lowering his head he nuzzled the side of her face with his lips ordering, “Spread your legs for me, sweetheart.”

Excitement coursed through Gigi at his words, his tone, and the command itself, urging her to immediately comply with his request. She surveyed her stance as she spread her feet shoulder width apart on the floor, before looking back up at him for approval.

“Such a good girl for me.” Again he rewarded her, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin between the top of her thigh and her folds, as he answered, “Perfect, Gigi,” he praised. “You are fucking perfect.” 

She trembled at his approval, his praise hitting a nerve which she hadn't even realized, needed his soothing. Purring in response, her hand moved to his upper arm. She slid her fingers up under the fabric of his sleeve, then wrapped her hand around his bicep, needing to feel his skin. Needing more of him.  

Continuing to tease her, Negan used his free hand to gently pull her arm away from her chest, where it was still tightly clamped across her breasts. Feeling her tense at his attempt, he urged, “Relax, Gigi,” nibbling at her earlobe and tickling the skin behind it with his tongue. She grinned at him in the mirror, chuckling at the barricade she’d created, letting him lower her arm to her side. 

“Fucking beautiful,” he praised both her trust and her body. Her perfect fucking little titties were calling his name, so he gently caressed one, watching her response in the mirror. 

 _Hold on for the ride, sweetheart, ‘cause here we fucking go!_ Negan lightly pinched her nipple between his index finger and thumb, while he slid his other hand behind the strip of fabric covering her folds, dipping between her lips with the intention of going right for her clit. He had a moment of confusion, and his fingers were driven to travel back up to her mons before he reached his goal, petting it and the outside of her labia, searching for confirmation of a find too fucking good to be true. 

A growl started low in his throat, rising to escape his lips as a guttural, “Fuck, Gigi! You shave your pussy?” His fingers wandered as he asked, exploring his new favorite plaything as he looked down over her shoulder trying to get a peek of it. Remembering the mirror in front of them, he tapped the outside of one of her feet with his own so she'd move them closer together again, then hooked both of his index fingers in the sides of her thong and yanked it down her hips far enough so it would drop the rest of the way to the floor on its own. 

“Fuckity fuck me _so_ fucking hard!” he groaned at the sight of her. 

Gigi giggled at him as he cocked his head to the side, squinting as he did when he was studying something very seriously, then raising his eyebrows, he shook his head as if it were all too much to handle. 

“I get it waxed. You like it?” a shy grin turned up the corners of her lips, as if she was surprised by his excitement. She had started waxing early on in her dance career, because she hated worrying about the perspiration her pubic hair created. There was nothing beautiful about a ballerina with sweat stains on the inside of her upper thighs.

 _Is there a man on this fucking earth who wouldn’t like it?_ “Fuck, yes!” _Playtime is fucking over._ The self control he would have needed to move slowly with her was gone, and he slid his fingers through her wet slit, immediately starting to circle her clit, groaning once more at the heat of her, and the wetness, and her whimpers. His breath quickened at his view in the mirror of her hips canting to help increase the friction, her stance widening again of it's own accord, and of his hand moving rapidly, fingers buried in her exposed slit. He was fucking awestruck by the wondrousness of it all. 

There would be no fucking way in hell he’d be able to manage slow with this woman. He was on fire with a need to feel her, to rut his confined erection in the crack of her ass, to taste her, toy with her, overwhelm and control her. But tonight wasn’t about what he wanted. Tonight was all about her orgasm. Because it was fucking someday.

“You feel so fucking good Gigi,” he murmured, increasing the pace of his ministrations, as well as the pressure on her clit as he kneaded and pinched her nipples rougly, making her grunt, and her body jerk from the sweet pain. The expression on her face as he watched her in the mirror was stunning, teetering between wonder and ecstasy. _I fucking did that._

“I…” was all the response Gigi could managed to force out, the effect of his magical fingers intensifying suddenly as he increased their speed. _Ohmygod,ohmygod,ohmygod!_ The pressure building in her core, she contracted her muscles, trying to will an orgasm to happen, and happen soon. _Please._ _Oh God, so close. I’m so close …_ She said a little prayer, to whom, she didn’t know. _Please. Please, just let it happen._

“Are you going to come for me Gigi?” Negan cooed in her ear.

_Let it happen for me this time, with him. For him._

Unable to answer him, a cry escaped her lips as the sensation of needing more, but having nowhere else to go, tortured her. _So close. So close._ The intensity was cresting, feeling as if it could get no higher, no more frenzied or powerful, and it needed release. Gigi felt like she was hovering right below a peak which was just out of reach. _Oh God, please._

As the seconds ticked by, worry seeped into the forefront of her mind. The worry which always taunted her in these moments. _He’s waiting, Gigi. You can’t take all night._ The worry which pulled her back from the edge and made it harder to get close again. 

Negan felt something shift in her. He’d been able to tell she was close, felt her abs contracting under his hand, heard her whimpers and cries escalate, but after he’d murmured his question in her ear, she’d started to tense, becoming less and less responsive. She had stopped making eye contact with him in the mirror, her head now turned to the side, and her cries and whimpers of pleasure were now soft sounds of desperation.

 _What the fuck is happening?_ Watching Gigi closely, and waiting for a signal from her to stop, Negan slowed his hand between her legs, then stopped its circular motion, instead grazing his finger slowly back and forth slowly on either side of her clit, concentrating his attention on the sensitive skin deep within her folds, giving her a chance to relax. 

He backed up a foot to the bed behind him, moving her with him. Sitting down on the edge, he positioned her between his thighs, never stopping the slide of his fingers along her clit. He peppered her back with soft kisses, hearing her let out a gush of breath when he placed a particularly sloppy, wet open mouthed kiss at the top of the crack of her ass. Following her lead, he mouthed across her lower back, listening to her hum in appreciation, feeling the tension in her body disappear. 

He tested the waters by swiping the tip of his index finger lightly over the tip of her nub as he nipped and sucked his way up her side, grinning against her skin when he heard her gasp. Gigi joined him, chuckling in delight at his effect on her. Playing dirty, he swiped it again, laughing wickedly when her chuckle was cut off by another gasp. 

Circling her clit again, he used a slower pace, wondering if the speed and pressure had been too much for her the first time around. _Shit!_ Her hips started to move against his hand, and within seconds she was gyrating in a rhythm faster than his own, prodding him to speed up. _Yes, fucking ma’am!_ He adjusted the pace, as per her silent request, her little kitten noises turning into whimpers and moans. 

Feeling her legs trembling, Negan pulled her onto his lap, spreading her legs over the outside of his, forcing them further open by spreading his own thighs apart. Always so fucking pliant, she let him do whatever he pleased, and he kinda fucking liked her trust in him.

 _Here we go again. Oh, no._ Gigi snapped out of her sensual haze as the sensation of being on the brink started building in her core. She was once again on the outside of nirvana, looking in, and she didn't want to be in that place again. “Negan, stop,” she pleaded, gently pulling at his wrist. “I can’t.”

“Can’t what, Gigi?” He didn’t know why the fuck she kept shutting down right before she let loose. Sliding his hand out from between her thighs and up to her stomach, he ran his fingers back and forth, giving her some affection while he waited for her response. 

“I can’t come for you!” she blurted out, the question he’d cooed in her ear echoing in her head. Suddenly feeling more than a little bit exposed and vulnerable with her legs spread wide, Gigi pulled them to the inside of his and moved to stand up, opening one of the dresser drawers in front of her and pulling out a sleep shirt which she slid down over her head.

Negan didn’t know what the fuck she was talking about, but whatever it was, it didn’t sound good. He immediately got defensive, questioning, “Did you change your mind? Because if you did, that’s fine, Gigi. We can forget this night ever happened.” Standing up, he edged towards the French doors, ready to go the minute she told him he’d been a mistake.

Hearing his defensiveness, and seeing him ready to bolt, she realized she hadn’t been clear.  Approaching him, she fisted the front of his tee shirt as she had in the hall at school, anchoring him in place as he refused to look at her. “Really, Negan? You could just forget about this? Because I couldn’t,” she admitted gently. “You, being here with me tonight? It’s the best thing that’s happened to me in a long, long time.” 

 _Holy shit, she sounds so fucking earnest._ Finally looking into her eyes, he could see her honesty written all the fuck over the place. He nodded at her, waiting for her to continue.

“What you just did with me? How you made me feel …” She struggled to find the right words so she kept it simple. “Sooo good, Negan. And I want more. So much more.” She was getting to the hard part, the embarrassing part, so she let go of him and walked back to sit on the end of the bed facing him, giving herself time to choose her words. 

 _Sooo good. Nice!_ Negan was enthralled with everything coming out of her mouth, so for once in his life he remained silent and waited for her to go on.

“But I don’t know if you’ll want to be with me … I can’t … I’ve never …”

He watched her eyes wander from his, looking around the dimly lit room, and as they flitted from here to there, and in them he could see the shimmer of tears. Whatever she was going to share with him was obviously huge for her and he had no fucking idea why, but he felt the need to help her through it, just as she’d made him all better with the touch of her hand when he'd been talking about Lucille.

He joined her on the edge of the bed, and with an arm under her knees and one behind her back, he swept her onto his lap. She tucked her head under his chin, and he felt her her toying with chest hair at the opening of his v-neck as he ran his fingers lightly up and down her spine. He took great pleasure in the feel of her bare ass cheeks and wet pussy on his thigh where the leg opening of his shorts had been pushed up higher on his leg when he'd dragged her onto his lap. 

Gigi sighed, hoping he could live with what she was about to share with him, because she wanted him so badly. Taking a deep breath, she finally spit out what she had to say. “It sounded like it was important to you that I orgasm. So I need to tell you now that I can’t come for you, Negan, like you  asked me to. I can’t orgasm for you at all. So if that bothers you, or if it’s really that important to you, then maybe you’ll be the one who’ll want to forget this night ever happened.” The prospect was crushing for her.

Negan was both stunned and confused by her confession. He tried really fucking hard to keep the incredulity out of his voice, keeping his tone gentle as he tried to clarify, “Are you telling me you’ve never had an orgasm?” _Okay, so maybe I sounded a little fucking shocked. I tried._

Gigi chuckled at the abject dismay in his voice. Lifting her head, she finally looked him in the eye. “No, Negan. I orgasm all the time when I’m alone,” she informed him, winking at him with her admission. “I just can’t come when I’m with someone.”

The pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together in Negan’s mind. “Orgasms don’t have an on-off switch that flips out of the blue, Gigi. If you can come when you masturbate, you can come when you’re with a partner.”

“I know, I know! I’ve heard this all before,” she insisted. Suddenly agitated, she jumped off his lap to pace the room, her arms flailing gracefully as she moved. “It’s all me, Negan, I know that. I just don’t need anyone else getting aggravated with me about something I can’t help!” She stopped in front of him, her right foot unwittingly sliding forward, toes turned out.

Puzzle fucking complete. _That dead fucking squirrely ass son of a bitch._

“Sit your ass down and calm the fuck down,” he ordered gently, trying to hide his smile as he assured her, “I’m not aggravated with you.” Unable to help himself, he broke into laughter at her gracefully spewed anger. 

“You’re laughing at me!” she accused petulantly. “Why are you laughing at me?” Exhausted from her long day, and the emotion of the conversation, the tears he'd seen in her eyes started to fall. 

Walking over to her, he turned her by the shoulders, gently pushing her in the direction of the bed, patting her on the behind and then grabbing her right cheek to cop a quick feel. _Fuck!_ “Climb your prissy ass onto the bed,” he directed, just about creaming his pants when she followed his order, giving him a mouth watering view of her soaked pussy. _I need to fuck her._ Climbing on the bed on his knees next to her while she was still crawling towards the pillows, she squealed when he grabbed her by the hips and flipped her to her back, scrambling on top of her with a lecherous grin. Her hands flew to the hem of her nightshirt as she tried in vain to pull the displaced garment down to cover herself, all while she sniffled from crying.

“Don’t bother,” he stopped her hands in their tracks, pulling them over her  head and holding them with one of his own, explaining, “You already gave me the best fucking view of your sweet, bald snatch when you crawled up the bed.” 

She huffed, rolling her eyes at her own oversight. "Snatch? Really, Negan?” Gigi was electrified by the feel of his body pressed to hers and her hands trapped by his larger one.

He didn’t know why he was fucking grinning as he kissed across her jawline, and down her neck. She was a fucking princess, and a god damn bad ass all rolled into one. Savvy in business, passionate in her personal and work life and naive in the bedroom. Gigi was a five foot two inch tall tablet of Viagra for a man who liked a challenge. He fucking wanted her, all of her, in the biggest fucking way. Especially her pretty, Brazilian waxed pussy. “It’s not all you, Gigi,” he reassured her. “Trust me. You just need the right guy in your corner.”

“Really?” 

She was looking up at him in her way, as if he held all the answers she would ever need, gazing at him with affection, and a little fucking reverence, making him feel worthwhile. “Yeah, really.” 

Negan loved how she took him at his word, despite the lack of elaboration, and nodded at him in acceptance. _She’s going to fucking kill me with her fucking trust._ He kissed her hungrily, groaning when her back arched in her attempt to feel closer to him without using her hands, as if she couldn’t get enough of him. 

Gigi could hear herself, whimpering and sighing as Negan devoured her mouth so passionately. He knew how to use his lips, which was so unlike the three men she’d kissed in her life. She’d had two boyfriends in high school who were all tongue and roaming hands, and neither she nor Yuri had had much experience when they’d started dating. She had loved her husband’s kisses, but now having a basis for comparison, she realized she’d loved them simply because they were his, and they were a way to feel close to him. 

Negan’s kisses, on the other hand, were thrilling for her. Telling her how he felt about her, with his mouth, his lips grazed hers, nipped them, sometimes soft and slow, but sometimes firm and furious. His tongue was magnificent, touching, licking, teasing and plundering, but what she’d found most interesting, was how he used it sparingly, teasing her with it, instead of trying to gag her with it. _Heaven, I’m in heaven …_

When he finally pulled back from her, she was breathless, her chest heaving, and she struggled to open her eyes to look up at him. He had effectively kissed her into a daze. 

“Psss Psss.” Negan tried to help her open her eyes with the sound, letting go of her hands, shifting his body so he was laying beside her. It was the physical loss of him which finally motivated to her open her eyes, not his cat call. She smiled up at him, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

He was tired as fuck, and he knew her struggle to keep her eyes open was not only due to his awesome fucking prowess. Running his fingertips up and down her belly, he kissed her softly on the lips, then peppered her face with kisses, before he shifted so his chin was resting on her shoulder, his nose on her neck. He continued to run his fingers over her, perfectly content to lay quietly with her. She was asleep within minutes. 

Finally taking the time to pull her sleep shirt down to her thighs, stopping to place a kiss on her mons because he was totally enamored of it, he slowly got up from the bed. Lifting the comforter where it hung down the side of the bed and folding it over her so she’d be covered, he took one more look at her before he left. _I am such a fucking pussy for this woman._

_________

Gigi started awake at noon on Saturday, wrapped in a warm, wonderful cocoon of comforter. Immediately noting Negan’s absence, she was disappointed, fearing the worst. She wouldn’t blame him if he’d given up on her, though. He was obviously very, wonderfully experienced. Why would he want to get involved with some one like her? But he’d told her, her inability to orgasm wasn’t all her fault, and she really hoped he would explain the statement to her at some point.

Frowning at the idea she may never know what he meant, she flipped the covers back and hopped out of bed to go to the bathroom. Spying the Winnie the Pooh notepad which was normally on her nightstand, now on the floor in her path, she stopped to pick it up and read the words scribbled on it. She grinned from ear to ear, doing a little celebratory dance. 

Gigi,

Every day can be your someday. 

I promise.

See you tonight?

Negan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who read Out Here On My Own, you've met Gigi before. While I'm definitely trying to keep her personality traits in place, and her badassery, I've changed up how she operates in the bedroom. I didn't want to create the same sexual dynamic between them, so things wouldn't get predictable.


	13. You Deserve A Dozen Cupcakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because smut. :)

He savored the feel of her rapid heartbeat, resting his lips on the pulse point under her jawline, tasting the salt of skin her with a flick of his tongue. Gigi was an absolute fucking wreck, and he adored the fuck out of it. He’d been playing with her, worshiping her, teasing her, edging her, concentrating solely on her pleasure. Learning her so he could be her fucking someday. Because he’d promised her. Negan didn’t make many promises, but when he did, he kept them. He had no regrets putting the words into writing on her notepad the night before, because he knew they were fucking truth. He was determined to be the one to finally satisfy her and right her world, sexually, and he was going to enjoy every fucking minute of it.

The Almighty Negan was going to be the man to blow her goddamn mind, the one to show her how good sex could really be, because she had no fucking idea what she’d been missing. Sure, she could get herself off, but as any of his exes would undoubtedly tell her, nothing compared to the gift of an orgasm by Negan’s hand, or mouth or cock.  _Merry fucking Christmas, doll!_   He wanted to be the one to see the look on her face when she shattered. The only one.

The drive to be her hero was surprisingly powerful, considering they had been at odds up until a few days prior. Somehow, though, even as they had battled she had wormed her way under his skin. He hoped to hell she liked it there, because now that he’d had a little fucking taste of her, he wanted more, and all.

He kissed her hungrily, praising her once more for being so good for him, letting him take control and letting him do as he pleased, all while she looked at him in her way, like he held every fucking answer to any question she’d ever have in life. It may have made his chest ache a little fucking bit.  

“You’re going to come for me, Gigi,” he breathed against her lips. “Just me.”

_________

Merle had mentioned Marshall and Hannah were staying the weekend at their grandparents, so Negan had set up two lounge chairs side by side on the dock while she’d taken her daily swim, filling a small cooler with some ice, beer and a bottle of wine. Having learned the hard way the time to discuss her dilemma wasn’t during a sexually charged moment, his plan had been to loosen her up with a little wine and some ‘get to know you’ conversation. He’d hoped to figure out what was causing Gigi to tense up instead of fall over the edge. She had sounded, the night before, like she’d given up on the idea of ever achieving an orgasm during foreplay or sex, and was convinced it was all her own fault. The idea her husband, or some other asshole would put the idea in her head pissed him the fuck off. Lazy fucks.

Gigi had been excited to find him waiting for her, draping the towel she’d used to dry herself over the empty lounge chair, stretching out and laying her head back to get some of the late day sun on her face.

He’d been wrong in assuming it would be difficult to pull the information out of her. She’d been an open fucking book after two glasses of wine, answering all his questions, without hesitation. Had he seen a bit of embarrassment on her face? Yes. Had she worded her responses in vanilla language, avoiding intimate details? Absolutely. But he’d been pleased as fuck his girl had been so open with him.

“And they didn’t fucking care they never satisfied you?” he’d questioned her incredulously after she’d revealed she’d only had two lovers, one in high school, and her husband. After some benign chit chat about the kids, and work,  he’d led her down a path, questioning her very matter of factly, telling her he wanted to try understand why she had difficulty letting herself go.

“It’s not that they didn’t care, Negan,” she’d defended her past loves thoughtfully. “I know most of the problem is me.” She was quiet for a moment, looking out of the water as she took another drink of her Pinot Grigio. “They tried.” She’d huffed in frustration, studying her wine glass so she wouldn’t have to meet his eye, running the tip of her index finger around the rim a few times.  “Early in our relationship, Yuri would ask me what he could do to help me orgasm, and he would try. He really would, but I’d end up telling him not to worry about me, and move the focus to his pleasure.”

“Why wouldn't you want to be the focus, Gigi?” He’d made sure his tone was curious, not judgmental, throughout their conversation.

Her beautiful eyes had finally looked into his, and he had seen the embarrassment, and worry and frustration in them as she’d confessed, “Because there was too much pressure on me when he tried to satisfy me.”

“What kind of pressure?”

She had hesitated in responding, trying to find the right words, searching herself for an answer to a question no one had ever thought to ask her. “When the focus was on me,” she’d explained, “I felt like I had a certain amount of time to orgasm, or Yuri’s fun would be ruined.”

“Did he tell you that?”

She went into her own head for a bit, her eyes flitting here and there before they came back to his and she replied, “Not in so many words.”

“Explain,” he prompted her.

“He would tell me he wanted me to come, and he’d try to make it happen, but when it didn’t happen within a few minutes, I could see his eyes glaze over, like he was bored. Like he was going through the motions because he felt he should.” Frowning at the memory, she added, “I couldn’t blame him, really, but I didn’t like that feeling. I wanted the fun and the heat and the intimacy. I didn’t like the pressure.”

“Really?” Negan countered dramatically, his tone no longer gentle. “You couldn’t blame him for getting bored? How long would you let good old Yuri pound into you before _you_ got bored?” He didn’t really want to know the answer. He was trying to make a point.

She’d looked at him quizzically, shaking her head before she smiled at the memories. “I never got _bored_. I always felt like I wanted more when it was over, like I _needed_ more.”

 _Maybe because you weren’t fucking satisfied?_ “Between the foreplay and the sex, how long did it take your husband to shoot his load?” He’d let her consider the question for a moment before he continued, “And how much time did you _give_ _yourself_ to orgasm before you felt it was too long, Gigi? Did you give yourself equal time?” he prodded her.  “Did Yuri give you equal time before his eyes glazed over?” He hadn’t wanted to speak ill of the fucking dead, but he needed her to see the problem didn’t all lie with her.

The woman lounging in the chair next to him had suddenly gasped lightly in understanding. Promptly sitting up, she’d pivoted on her rear end to face him, her bare feet whipping off the side of the lounger and planting themselves on the deck next to her chair with an audible slap. Her ass sitting on the very edge of the seat, Gigi’s chest had just about touched her thighs in an attempt to lean into his space on the chair next to hers. Her eyes bore into his as a range of emotions washed over her face in a matter of seconds, from relief, to upset, to delight. He’d chuckled when she opened her mouth and closed it again a few times in an attempt to respond to his question, before finally giving up. In the end, she’d simply smiled the most beautiful fucking smile at him, reaching out to gently squeeze his forearm with her delicate fingers as she nodded at him.

_Point. Fucking. Made._

“I don’t get bored easily, Gigi.” He’d winked at her, giving her a shit eating grin. “Especially when there’s pussy involved.” Her laughter was contagious, and he’d chuckled with her at his own admission.

__________

Grazing his lips from her pulse point up to her mouth, he nipped at her lower lip as he dipped his fingers between her folds once more, circling her clit so lightly she lifted her hips in an effort to push herself more firmly into his touch. “You’re not playing fair!” she whined at him breathily as he continued his sinful torture, her head pushing back into the mattress, her eyes closing when he increased the pressure and pace for several seconds.

He leaned down to suck one of her beautiful tinies into his mouth, letting it go with a resounding pop as she buried her nails in his pecs in response. He had removed her bathing suit top minutes into their play to gain access to her succulent titties, and in turn she’d removed his tee shirt, telling him she wasn’t going to be the only one undressed, this time around.

“What’s not fair about the way I play, sweetheart?” he cooed at her, once again slowing the speed and easing up on the intensity of his touch. He kissed her softly, enjoying the feel of her panting breath on his lips as he pulled away, and the sheen of perspiration on her skin. The tendrils of dark hair around her face were damp, and she raised a hand to push some wet strands off the back of her neck.

Gigi’s breathe hitched each time his fingertips barely skimmed over her most sensitive spot. “You can’t … keep … you can’t … Negan …" she protested in the rhythm of his strokes. Her eyes fluttered open to find him, her brow furrowed in discontent.

“I can’t what?” he taunted her as he dipped his middle finger inside her, curling it forward to stroke her g spot. She simply keened in response.

He continued to edge her, listening and watching for signs she was reaching her peak, hyper vigilant for any indication she was shutting down. It didn’t take long for him to remember she contracted her abs when she was getting close, and the canting of her hips would stop, as if she couldn’t concentrate on her motion and the intense pleasure at the same time. Her moans and cries would turn into to whimpers, the sound of which made his fucking dick ache. Being the clever asshole he was, each time he felt his girl starting to work into a frenzy, he eased his ministrations, loving the fuck out of how she fussed at him about it.

 _‘_ _Noooo_ …’

 _‘just_ _so wrong …’_

 _‘_ _Why, Negan?’_

“Maybe we should stop Gigi, since this is so frustrating for you?” He had edged her so many times he’d lost count, and his girl was beside herself as he suddenly switched to a lazier pace. 

She was almost beyond words, her head rolling from side to side, her eyes closing once more as he changed things up, using his index and middle finger to lightly caress the sensitive nerves on either side of her clit. The corners of her mouth curled up in a tiny fucking grin as she chuckled lowly, her head turning to him, eyes opening to search for his gaze.

“You are wicked,” she finally managed to murmur, raising her head off the bed, pulling him to her by the hair so she could kiss him softly. This man was driving her crazy with his never-ending tease. She didn’t know how long they had been fooling around, but she planned to kneel down to worship at the altar she would construct in his honor when he was through with her, and she would say a prayer of thanks for his long, talented fingers, his mouth and his infinite patience.

“We've got all fucking night Gigi, so just relax,” he had instructed her early on, along with gently insisting, “Just trust me. I’ll get you there. Whether it’s tonight or next week, it’s all fucking good with me.” His lack of expectation was exactly what she’d needed, and for some inexplainable reason, she did trust him. He hadn’t disappointed her. He had been fully engaged the entire time he’d toyed with her, and seemed to derive great pleasure from pampering her. She’d caught him several times watching her expression closely as his fingers introduced her to another new magical sensation, and he would grin, utterly pleased with himself at her response.

She had quickly figured out his game, and was trying her best not to think about the time, keeping herself relaxed, letting him drive her insane, pushing her higher and higher and then suddenly dropping her back. When his fingers had started their divine play inside her swim trunks, she had been worried about whether she would freeze when she got close to an orgasm, but he had brilliantly prevented her from worrying about it by pulling her back from the edge before her anxiety could start.

She had to admit he had edged her for so long, she was literally beside herself, having immersed herself so deeply in the sensations, the timing of each drop before she peaked heightening her need to reach it. She was so very, very close, and her core was aching almost painfully with a need for release, making her hopeful she might actually come for him if he’d stop slowing his pace every other minute.

“You think this is fucking wicked?” he responded after he ran his tongue along her lower lip, sharing her breath. “I’ll show you wicked, sweetheart.” Shifting to kneel on the bed beside her, he twisted his fingers in the crotch of her damp swim trunks and pulled the garment with off in one swift motion before laying on his stomach between her spread legs.

“Well, _hello_ there!” Negan greeted her pussy exuberantly, wrinkling his nose and giving it a little shiver. Sliding his hands under her knees, he pushed them up towards her chest to get a better view of her. “Fuck, fucking, fuckity-fuck me! Goddamn, Gigi!” Pretty and pink, hot, wet and inviting, her pussy called to him, a seductive little _‘eat me, Negan’_ he couldn’t fucking ignore.

Pushing her knees until they could go no further, he then spread them wide fucking open, grateful for her flexibility, which afforded him a downright magical fucking view of her clit and the pucker of her ass. _Fuck, I need a fucking go at that tight hole!_ The likelihood the tight little muscle had never been intimately touched was high, and it was a heady thought for him. _It’ll be fucking touched soon enough._ Touched and licked, fingered and fucked if he had his way, and he would sooo fucking get his way.

Running his hands down the back of her thighs, Negan relished the feel of them trembling beneath his fingertips as Gigi waited impatiently for him to get back to work. He mouthed her smooth mons, sucking at her lips, barely poking his tongue out to taste the delicate flesh between them. _Sweet fucking pussy._ With each pass she writhed, as he groaned and cursed.

His raging hard on twitched at her response. He tried to ignore the little bastard’s insistence it wanted to come out to play, but it was becoming more and more difficult to do.

He dove back in to brush back and forth across his girl’s clit several times with maximum pressure, causing her to squirm and moan. _Fuck, yes!_ His lust rendering him incapable of easing her into things, Negan swept his tongue from the pucker of her ass up to her clit, growling at the thrill of finally getting a big fucking taste of her and the satisfaction he felt at the involuntary buck of her hips and frantic cry.

“Negan, you …” _Oh, my god! He … Oh my god! He licked me **there**? Seriously, Gigi, you can’t even talk dirty in your own mind? Use your big girl words. Ass. He licked your ass ... Oh my god, he licked my ass! _Her thoughts were interrupted by another pass of his tongue from one opening to the other, making her shudder from head to toe. _He’s so baaaad! But I think I like it._

Negan chuckled between her legs in response to her shaking. “ _Negan!_ ” she wailed, making the party in his shorts kick into high gear, and like the horny fuck he was, he pushed his hips down into the mattress, seeking out some sort of friction on his cock, because at this point, any fucking sort would do.

Gigi was crying out with every swipe across her clit, the pressure of his tongue perfect, fueling a sense of urgency that wouldn’t be denied, and feeding her need for release. She howled when something slick and wet swept across her pucker with the slightest amount of pressure, while his tongue was still laving her folds.  _His finger? No, his thumb!_ The unfamiliar feeling both shocked and inflamed her senses, inciting a small amount of panic. “ _Negan!?”_ she howled, not wanting him to stop, but needing some reassurance. _Is he going to try to push it in there?_  While she loved what he was doing, she wasn’t ready for him to go further.

Negan heard the slight desperation in her cry, and he backed the pad of his thumb off her luscious little hole, lifting his head long enough to plead with her softly, “Trust me, Gigi?” Even he wasn’t dick enough to try to conquer her ass this soon. _Next time._

Not even a second went by before her beautiful eyes smiled at him and she nodded frantically, her hand reaching down to cup his cheek, stroking it with her thumb. He turned to nuzzle her palm, kissing it tenderly, inspired by a curious need to thank her for her trust because it felt like a fucking gift coming from his magnificent girl. _Negan, you pussified, sorry ass, fuck._

Not able to wait one more second for the man between her thighs to put his skilled tongue back to work, she threaded her fingers in the hair at the top of his head and yanked his nose back to her mons, smiling at his muffled, “ _Fuck, Gigi!_ ” before he dove back into his work with zeal. The few second lapse in his ministrations had once again given her the sensation she’d been unwittingly pushed away from the edge of heaven, yet when his tongue skimmed through her folds once more, the pleasure was more intense than ever, making her whimper and writhe.

Negan felt her abs contract under his fingertips, where they rested on her belly and she whimpered once, and then a second and a third time, letting him know she was close. Keeping a consistent pressure and pace on her clit, he once again pressed the wet pad of his thumb gently against her rim, massaging it as a means of sensual distraction. He could sense she was almost there, and he didn’t want her to tense up. Her response was all the validation he’d ever fucking need in life, her fingers pulling his hair painfully as she moaned, pushing her pussy and her ass towards the sources of her pleasure, seeking out more.

“No, no, no! Don’t stop!” Gigi cried loudly when he slowed his tongue once more, pulling his thumb away for three long, excruciating beats before he restarted his efforts on both fronts, causing her to moan loudly in both the relief and ecstasy.

The frustrated cry which sprang from her lips had him fighting to keep from rutting like a hound dog into the mattress in search of his own relief. He was in overdrive, panting with her, perspiration at his hairline and heart pounding at the taste, sight and sound of her. She began a frenzied babbling, making him grin even as his lips were buried in her folds.

“Don’t ... Negan …" Gigi pleaded when he slowed, and just when she thought the ache and the pulsing need would ruin her, he resumed with even greater intensity. “Please … please, please …" She was dismayed his thumb had disappeared, and she found herself begging him to put it back, far beyond feeling shocked by her shameless desire for the new sensation she loved so much. “Need it, Negan, I need … I …" her rambling was frenetic. “Oh, god!” she cried as he started to suck on her clit.

“What do you need, Gigi?” he cooed once more. The lull in action while he questioned her provoked a frustrated sob which Negan felt in his gut, driving him to fulfill any fucking wish her heart desired.

Her chest heaved as he wrapped his lips around her clit again and sucked a few times before replacing his mouth with his fingers, turning his hand sideways and  rubbing them quickly up and down on her nub. Her moans and whimpers escalated dramatically before she managed to answer, “Your thumb … please …"

“Oh, my dirty girl!” he cajoled, ecstatic to hear his prissy girl liked a little ass play. Increasing the pace of his fingers, he pressed his thumb to her rim once more, circling it expertly. After only a few seconds, her writhing and canting suddenly stalled, breathy whimpers falling from her lips before her hips bucked, and she fell apart beneath him.

“Negan!” Gigi wailed as she came, her hands ineffectively scrambling for purchase on his bare shoulders, trying to pull him up to her, needing him closer as she imploded in the most magnificent way.

Negan watched in fascination as her orgasm rolled through her in waves while he continued to massage her clit. Suddenly understanding she was beckoning him, he crawled on top of her, caging her in under his body, pushing her damp hair back off her forehead. Kissing her gently he murmured, “My beautiful, amazing, girl. You did good. So good for me,” he praised her. She purred at his words, something he’d noticed the night before as well when he’d encouraged her. _My girl has a little kink for daddy’s praise._

Gigi wanted to weep with gratitude, but it wasn’t the time for tears. She’d had enough tears in the last few months to last a lifetime, and thanks to him, there was cause for nothing but happiness. She felt satiated and safe underneath him as she came down from her incredible high.

Despite the very satisfying earth shattering orgasm he’d given her, Gigi was on fire, physically aching for the man resting on top of her. She felt a bit vulnerable, having shared something with him which she had never shared with anyone else. It connected her to him in the most intimate way, but she needed to watch him come apart for her, too, so she could see the look on his face, feel his orgasm as he pulsed inside her. More than anything, she wanted to please him. She wondered if and how a control freak like Negan would handle being vulnerable.

He was grinning at her as he kissed her gently, wrapping his arms around her back, cradling her as he ran his lips across her cheeks and then kissed the outside corners of her eyes as she tried unsuccessfully to pull herself together. Gigi liked the gentle side he had shown her in the last few days. It was one of the things which had allowed her to realize he was a lot of infuriating bluster on the surface, but she was sporting a serious crush on the gentler man underneath. He had shown his protective nature, and he seemed to take great pleasure in making sure she was satisfied, and the idea of both were very appealing.

She was grateful for his affection as she calmed. He had played with her for such a long time, both physically and emotionally. It had been the best kind of play, but it had been exhausting for her in both respects. She hummed in appreciation, letting him know she liked his attention. Running her fingers through his hair, she nipped at his jaw line murmuring, “Can I make love to you, Negan? I need to feel you inside me.”

Negan didn’t know why her request caught him off guard. He pulled back to look in her eyes, considering what she was asking, the veneration in her tone both flattering and unsettling for him. It wasn’t what she was asking. It was how she was asking it, all fucking flowery and romantic. He would have been more comfortable with _‘Can I fuck you Negan?’_

Taking his silence as a lack of interest, or possible upset she was trying to call the shots, Gigi quickly tried to back pedal. “It’s okay if you don’t want ... I guess I just assumed … which I shouldn’t have done.” She knew she was rambling, so she tried to be succinct as she held his gaze, “Just forget I asked. I know I’m being selfish when I should be considering what you might want.”

_Being selfish? Is she fucking kidding me? Like I wouldn’t want to bury my dick in her?_

When Negan once again didn’t respond, Gigi feared the worst. Perhaps he wasn’t interested in taking things to a more intimate level. Or worse, maybe he just considered her orgasm a pet project, a notch on his belt. She took a deep breath, looking away from him so she didn’t embarrass herself further. She pushed at his shoulders gently so she could move out from under him, saddened and embarrassed.

Feeling his girl suddenly try to pull away from him startled Negan out of his thoughts, and he realized she’d taken his silence as rejection. “How the fuck could I not want that, Gigi?” he reassured her softly, unable to repeat her flowery request. Pulling her more tightly against him, he nipped at the corner of her mouth, trying to tempt her to turn back to him. “If that’s your idea of being selfish, I can definitely fucking live with selfish,” he teased her. Wrapping his long fingers around the back of her head, he turned her to face him, forcing her to look at him, upset still evident in her eyes even as she smiled at his words.

 _Not the time for jokes, shithead_. He was fucking up this moment, royally. _‘Just tell me what you’re thinking, Negan,’_ Lucille had always prodded him when she would get frustrated he wasn’t communicating with her. _‘Then at least I’ll have something to work with.’_

 _Give her something to fucking work with_. Negan was quiet for a moment, running his lips back and forth across her cheek bone before he admitted, “You just caught me off guard, Gigi. No one’s ever asked me that before, in those words.” He shrugged, at a loss for words. _Spit it out, asshole._ “It sounded really fucking nice." When she smiled her beautiful smile at him, he knew he’d made it better.

His lips met hers, immediately eliminating her worries, and Gigi wrapped her legs around his lower back, both of her hands moving to the sides of his face to anchor him to her. Her tongue teased his lips, inviting his to come out and play, and their kiss became more heated as his hands began roaming over her body.

Gigi felt him hurriedly reaching for his belt, and she pushed his hand away, feeling the need to take care of him. Heeding her wish, Negan rested on his elbows over her, raising his hips off of hers slightly to make her job easier. She kept her thighs wrapped around his hips while she felt her way to unclasping his belt, then unbuttoned and unzipped his shorts.

Her hands were shaking with nervousness, but she liked the feeling of being in control for the moment. She wanted to make Negan feel as good as he’d made her feel, if it was even possible. For the first time in their short, intimate history, she felt confident about what she wanted to do.

She slid his shorts and underwear down his hips as far as she could reach before she clamped her knees on the outside of his waist and rolled them so he was on his back. Removing the last of his clothing she crawled up his body, straddling the top of his thighs.

“You wanna fuck me, Gigi?” Negan questioned her lowly, enamored of the look and feel of her wet pussy and toned body sitting on him. He ran his hands up and down her thighs, loving the feel of the firm muscles under his fingertips.

“I do,” she leaned forward to hover over him on her knees, kissing him.

“Do we need a condom?” he asked in a moment of sanity, despite the fact she’d started stroking his cock between them. If they needed one, he hoped to hell she had one, or he’d have to run to his place to grab the box he’d hidden in an old duffel bag in the closet when he’d been sleeping with Rosita.

“Birth control implant,” she informed him, letting go of his cock long enough to point at the inside of her upper arm. “And I’ve only had one partner for eons, so no STD’s.”

“I’m clean,” he told her. He’d had himself checked after he’d slept with Rosita, wanting to make sure he wouldn’t expose Lucille’s weak immune system to an infection she wouldn’t be able to fight.

Gigi responded by moving the head of his penis to her entrance and wasting no time sliding down on it.

“Fuuuuuck me. I fucking love your kind of selfish, Gigi.”

They both moaned when Negan topped out inside her, his hands reaching to grab her hips so he could guide her. 

“Uh, uh,” she admonished him. “I’m in charge now.”

“Yes, fucking ma’am!” Negan lightened his grip on her, caressing her hip bones softly. “Better?”

“I think they’d be better here,” she took her hands in his, moving them to her breasts, where he immediately pinched and rolled her nipples between his index finger and thumb.

“Have I mentioned I really like the way you think, Gigi?”

She laughed, leaning down to kiss him, quickly realizing their difference in height would only allow her to kiss him when the head of his cock was at her entrance. Once she slid down on him, their lips had to part if she wanted to take all of him in. She kissed him languidly, bobbing on him shallowly.

“Fuck, Gigi, you’re fucking killing me,” he murmured against her lips.

“That’s my intention,” she responded, suddenly breaking their kiss and riding his entire length several times. She kissed him once more, massaging only a few inches of him, before she pulled almost all the way off and then slid down until he was fully buried inside her.

Gigi had spent her career taking direction, learning dance steps in one or two run throughs, and then repeating what she’d learned without straying from the steps she’d been taught.

The football coach didn’t even realize he’d taught her a whole new kind of dance when he’d played with her. She was going to use her new found technique in the hopes she could heighten his arousal, and give him the same kind of mind-blowing orgasm he’d given her. She once again started to ride him, sitting up a bit and squirming to position herself so she could take him as deeply as possible inside her.

“Goddamn, Gigi. You feel so fucking good on my dick,” he confessed, groaning when she slid up and down his full length a few times. “Fuck. You keep that up and I’m not gonna last long, darlin’,” he warned her. It became clear to him quickly, she wasn’t the only one he’d been teasing as he’d sought out her orgasm. He was so close to shooting his load it was almost fucking embarrassing.

“Oh, yeah?” she taunted him, leaning down over him again to nibble and kiss across his collarbone. “Not if I have anything to say about it,” she informed him as she began riding him shallowly once more. “I can make sure you don’t come for quite a while, Negan,” she advised him, rocking as far forward as she could so she could tease the head of his cock again, nibbling on his ear lobe before whispering in it, “I learned from the _master_.”

“You wouldn’t fucking dare!” He grunted and cursed as Gigi moved up and down on his length.

“Watch me!”

_________

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Negan had to admit she was playing him absolutely fucking perfectly, blatantly ignoring him when he begged her for relief. “Come, on, Gigi,” he pressed her as she sat perfectly still on top of him, his cock buried inside her. “Now you’re just fucking torturing me.”

Torture him she definitely had, enjoying his cursing, swearing, bucking and groaning. “Why? Do you need to come, Negan?”

“You know the fucking answer to that question, Gigi.”

“I do, since you’ve mentioned it a dozen times,” she goaded him in response.

He glared indignantly at her, causing her to huff in amusement. Gripping his hips with her knees, she rolled them so he was on top. “Better?” She wrapped her legs around his back, pulling him down to her for a kiss.

Sliding in and out of her a few times he answered breathily, “Maybe. Let me double check.” Giving her a mile wide grin, he began to move in a steady rhythm, snapping his hips each time he slid deep inside her, causing her to cry out with each thrust. “Oh, yeah. Much fucking better.”

“Oh, god, Negan, I _love_ that!”

He groaned at the sensation as she threw her head back with a moan. Goddamn, he needed to come, but knowing she loved what he was doing, he wanted to give her more. _What the fuck is wrong with me?_ Taking a moment to pull her legs up so the back of her ankles rested on his shoulders, he bent her in half as he’d been longing to do, knowing he would be able to plunge even deeper inside her, her pussy tilted up to him at just the right angle for him to slam his dick home. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” he rumbled with each stroke.  “FUUUUUUUUCK!”

His girl smiled at his expletives, before a particularly deep thrust took her breath away. The sound of her, and the way her head snapped back into the bed were addictive, so he fucked her deep and hard again, and again and again, loving how he was leaving her breathless.

Gigi was in heaven, never having had sex so raw and passionate. Negan seemed to be fueled by pure lust, driving into her harder and faster, and she couldn’t help taking pride in the fact what she’d done to him had pushed him to his current state. He made her feel sexy, for the first time in years.

Suddenly pulling out of her, Negan grabbed ahold of her hips and flipped her onto her stomach effortlessly, then encircling her waist with his fingers, he yanked her up onto her knees and elbows and thrust back inside her, continuing to pound her at an even more brutal pace, his swearing becoming louder and raunchier, the harder he slammed into her.

Gigi could have easily become overwhelmed at the force of this strokes, but his precision was unfaltering, and she had no fear he’d hurt her. On the contrary, each crash of his hips into her glutes, and every time he thrust into her cervix made her quiver with pleasure.

“Fuck, Gigi! _Fuck!_ You’re fucking taking it like a champ!” he growled. “You like the feel of my cock inside you now, sweetheart?”

She nodded frantically, dropping her head onto her forearms, unable to speak as he continued to take her breath away.

“Come on, Gigi,” he fisted the hair on the back of her head, gently pulling it back as far as he could, wanting to hear her words. “Tell me!” he insisted, “You like the feel of my cock fucking your pussy?”

His question thrilled her, the filthy words sending a jolt through her as she tried to to answer him. “Yes!” she finally managed to groan.

“You can do better, Gigi,” he snarled behind her, yanking her hair lightly to prod her for more. Wrapping the fingers of his free hand over her shoulder, he used it to pull her to back to him as he slammed into her, causing her to yelp and whimper with each thrust. “Tell me!” he demanded.

“Oh, God, Negan, I …” she was interrupted by her own grunt, unable to finish her sentence.

“Tell me!” he roared. He needed to hear her say it. _Fucking need it._

“I love the feel of you! Feels so good, Negan. So good inside me!”

Negan exploded at her words, pushing his hips into her a few more times before he dropped forward over her back, burying his teeth in her shoulder as he came long and hard, laughing maniacally at the force of his orgasm. “My awesome fucking girl!” he kneaded her belly with the fingers of one hand as he released his grip on her hair, lazily massaging her scalp as he continued to pulse inside her. "I love how good you are for me," he praised, running his finger tips along her sides as he kissed the back of her neck.

Negan was disappointed when he started to feel his cock start to deflate, sorry to end their physical connection, knowing he needed another go at her as soon as fucking possible. Pushing on her hip to roll her onto her side, he laid face to face with her, pulling her as close as he could. Studying her as she gazed at him, he found contentment and affection in her expression, and he ran his fingers through her hair, pushing it off her face. “So fucking beautiful.” 

“I was thinking the same thing about you, but without the curse word,” Gigi confessed with a smile, kissing him softly before she pressed her lips to his Adam’s apple, resting them there.

_She’s killing me with the romantic, flowery, girly, shit. She thinks I’m beautiful. Huh._

“I wish I had one of those chocolate cupcakes from the luncheon,” she murmured against his skin, suddenly ravenous. She hadn’t put anything in her stomach other than a hardboiled egg and a few glasses of wine since she’d gotten out of bed at noon. 

“You deserve a dozen chocolate cupcakes after that fucking workout, doll.”

“You have such a way with words, Negan,” she admonished him teasingly.

“I know it’s probably hard to believe, but I’m known for being an over the top romantic.”

“Really?" she quizzed him, rolling away from him to sit up on the bed.

“Fuck, no,” he countered with a chuckle. “Where are you going?” Negan pawed at her lazily in an effort to pull her back to him.

“Going to get us a warm wash cloth to do some spot cleaning.” She reached back to run her fingers across his wet groin as a means of explanation. Padding across the carpet into the bathroom, she closed the door so she could pee in private. _Too soon for an open bathroom door,_ she thought to herself, smiling at the thought there could be a time when she would pee while he took a shower. _Relationship goals._ _Talk about romantic, Gigi._ She emptied her bladder, then wet a washcloth at the sink, putting a little soap on it before she swiped it between her legs to get rid of the wet and sticky residue between her folds and on her upper thighs.

Looking at her bedraggled self in the mirror, she ran her fingers through her hair, smirking at the site of herself. She looked like she’d been put through the ringer. Tossing the wet rag in the hamper, she grabbed a clean one from under the sink and wet it to use to wipe Negan down. When she made her way back into the bedroom, she was surprised when she found he was no longer in the room.

Setting the washcloth on the glass surface of her nightstand, she made her way to the kitchen, wondering if he had gone looking for a drink or snack. Not finding him there, she was stymied about where he might have disappeared to as she hunted through the fridge, finding a bottle of water and a container of blueberries. She also pulled out some party slices of cheddar cheese. She grabbed some honey mustard and crackers as well so they could have a picnic on the bed, piling some of each on a dinner plate. She made her way back to her bedroom, finding Negan coming through one of the French doors from the deck in only his shorts, a large pink bakery box in his hands.

“Got you something,” he smiled, walking over to her as he curled his fingers over the edge of the cardboard, pulling the lid up so she could see what was inside.

“Cupcakes?” she questioned excitedly, practically diving into the box to smell the confections. “There were leftovers?”  

“Five to be exact,” he informed her, “And they’re all chocolate.”

“You left your cozy spot on the bed to go get these for me?” she was touched he’d run over to his house for her treat. “You’re too good to me.”

“Yes, I fucking am!” he concurred, dragging his index finger through some icing and holding it to her lips. She immediately sucked the digit into her mouth, groaning at the taste, her tongue work and suction on his finger making him moan in turn.

She giggled at his response, making quick work of the creamy sweetness before picking one out of the box and peeling the paper wrapper back.

“Are you sure, Gigi?” Negan’s tone was light, his expression serious as he teased, “There are an awful lot of carbs in there.”

“I’m absolutely sure.”

For the first time since Gigi was a teenager she ate a whole cupcake. Then she ate two more. Because she'd been good for Negan, and she deserved them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's interesting writing smut for these two, especially since Gigi is so much more refined than Negan. Since I switch back and forth between their perspectives, I feel the need to change up how I describe the sex acts themselves, Negan's perspective using graphic slang, and Gigi using anatomically correct wording, like cervix and erection. Let me know if it's working, or if it sounds strange. :)


	14. If You Loved Me You'd Wear Purple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once she was settled she answered his question, “There was a time I thought I didn’t want to dance anymore, Negan.” Her eyes welled up suddenly as she backtracked. “That’s not true. I love dancing with all my heart, and it’s been killing me that I’ve had to live this lie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote another loooong chapter, so I broke it into two. Will post the other half in the next day or two once I edit it.  
> ______________________

“Hwuh!”

“Hwuh!”

“Hwuh!”

“Hwuh!”

Negan woke at seven in the morning in Gigi’s bed, to the faint sound of rhythmic grunting. _What the fuck?_ He knew even before he even rolled over she wasn’t next to him, because the far off, guttural noise was definitely coming from his dancer, reminding him of the sounds she’d made when he’d pounded her the night before. His already half hard cock took interest in the memory, and he reached down to stroke himself a few times, making the little bastard stand at full attention.

“Hwuh!”

“Hwuh!”

He smirked as he lay in her bed, her scent surrounding him as played out the previous night in his mind, pleased as all fucking get out about every fucking bit of it. Not only had he made her come all the fuck undone for him in one go round, he’d also found out his girl was no slouch in the sack. He’d assumed, with her inexperience and her hang ups, he’d have to coddle her for a while and spend some time pulling her out of her shell. She’d proved him so fucking wrong. Even though he had edged her to prevent her from freezing up, his girl had figured out she could also use edging to heighten his pleasure, and she’d jumped in feet first to try it. He gave her an A+++ for both effort and her technique, and he’d told her as much afterwards.

His good fucking girl. He kind of dug how she liked his praise. He’d asked her about it outright as they had eaten the last of the cupcakes the night before. “You like being my good girl, huh?” he had questioned her with a nod, because he’d already known her answer. He had been curious to know if it was something she and her husband had played at, or whether it was new for her.

“ _I_ _do_ _!_ ” she had exclaimed, looking both pleasantly surprised and a little scandalized at her own admission, her brow furrowed even as she grinned at the idea. “I was thinking about it this morning,” she’d shared, her hands moving animatedly as she'd spoken, “trying to figure out why I like it so much!”

He'd chuckled at how she was genuinely but pleasantly stymied by her kink, and she joined in, laughing at herself. “What did you come up with?” he'd prodded her.

Gigi’s demeanor had changed to one more serious, as she’d started, “You know I’m very Type A, so I have to do everything perfectly.”

“Really? I’d never fucking guess that.”

“Shush!” she’d reprimanded with a laugh, smacking the back of his hand lightly as he’d taken a bite out of his cupcake, deliberately pushing it into his lips and nose to decorate them with chocolate. She gave him a cocky grin as she confessed, “I think the praise kink has to do with my career. Ballet has a finicky audience. Living and working in that world required me to be perfect all of the time. Look perfect, dance perfectly, act perfectly while in the public eye. It was all right up my Type A alley. It took me a while, though, to realize being a perfectionist didn’t garner the type of appreciation I really needed.”

As she’d talked, she run the pads of her fingertips over Negan’s nose and upper lip to remove the frosting and then putting it in her mouth, or his, to dispose of it. He’d remained still, enjoying her delicate touch.

“When I was dancing, people always complimented me on what they could see on the surface,” she continued. “All of the things that looked perfect. My perfect make up, my perfect outfit, my perfect marriage. I appreciated the compliments, of course, but they left me questioning whether anything below the surface was worthwhile.”

 _All this to explain a little kink?_ Negan grinned to himself at her need to over analyze her behavior.

“What? What’s wrong?” she questioned his smirk.

“Nothing. Go ahead. I’m listening.” Surprisingly, he was.

Gigi looked at him skeptically for a moment before she continued. “I did love it when someone appreciated my dancing, because they were complimenting my hard work. Dancing perfectly was very personal for me. The praise which meant the most to me, though, was when people would tell me my dancing made them happy,” she remembered. “A woman told me once she had waited months to see me perform. She said she’d actually gotten giddy when I danced onto the stage, and my performance had made her heart sing. It was the best compliment I’ve ever received.”

Quiet for a moment while she’d continued to clean the icing off his face, she had finally moved closer and licked his upper lip to get the last of the frosting off, kissing him with a hum of enjoyment when she finished the task. “That woman told me I made her happy. That all the work I did to dance perfectly made her heart sing.

“You praise me because something I’ve done pleases you, in a very intimate way. I don’t know how to play perfect in the bedroom, Negan,” she related. “Last night, and just now? That’s the real me. As real as it gets. When you praise me, you’re telling the real me, I’m making you happy. It might seem trite, but it’s not to me,” Gigi had confessed, her eyes smiling at him, “because I want to make your heart sing.”

 _Holy fuck._ She was so fucking honest with him for such an early stage in their very new, I haven’t figured out what the fuck this thing is yet, relationship. Normally a person tried not to show too much of their hand this early in the game, for fear of having their cards thrown back in their face. He hadn’t figured out yet, whether she was too naive to protect herself, or whether she just didn’t have it in her to be anything other than completely honest with him. He suspected it was a little of both.

_________

“Hwuh!”

“Hwuh!”

His curiosity surprisingly winning out over his need to jerk off, the coach threw the covers off himself and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his eyes scanning the floor for his shorts. He grabbed them on the way to the head, taking a piss with his eyes half closed. _Too fucking early to be up on a Sunday._

Deciding Gigi wouldn’t mind if he borrowed her toothbrush, he brushed his teeth quickly to get the taste of stale beer off his breath. Sliding his shorts up his legs, he fondled his cock on the outside of the fabric as he walked down the hall because it simply fucking needed to be done, trying to follow the sound of his girl’s voice. He already knew his way around her place, not only because he and Lucille had frequented the place when Dale was alive, but also because the house was an exact duplicate of his own.

Negan looked around as he moved, noting Gigi hadn’t taken the time yet to paint or decorate. While Dale had renovated the bathrooms and kitchen a few years before his wife passed away, the rest of the decor was out of date. He was surprised the ballet star hadn’t gutted it already to update the whole thing and make it her own. He had seen contractor’s trucks and a dumpster in her driveway right after she’d settled on the home, and he wondered what the hell the workers had been doing for the two weeks they’d been there, besides getting rid of Dale and Irma’s belongings, which had been left in the house since there was no family to claim them.

Realizing Gigi’s voice was carrying up from the basement, he walked down a few steps, stopping halfway down when he caught sight of her. She had a high grade home gym on one side of the basement, which had several stations around its perimeter, as well as an elliptical machine and a tread mill. She had replaced the seventies throwback olive colored carpet with hardwood, which was shined to a high gloss. The smoothed surface would seem strange, but on the other end of the room, opposite the sliding glass doors out to the first floor patio and backyard, she’d installed thirty feet of floor to ceiling mirror, a ballet barre running through it horizontally. There was a sound system in one corner, speakers installed strategically around the large room. He was amused the outdated living area and bedrooms upstairs were untouched, yet she had a brand new state of the art gym and a dance studio in her basement.

He was also amused to find his dancer hanging upside down at one of the stations of the home gym. She had padded cuffs buckled to her ankles, a hook protruding from the back of each which had been placed over a pull up bar, and she was hanging like a fucking bat, her arms crossed over her chest as she did inverted sit ups. She was wearing some tiny purple spandex shorts and a sports bra, her hair in tight bun on the top of her head, her abs looking fucking amazing. _I need to lick them._

Sitting his ass down in the middle of the staircase where she wouldn’t see him unless she contorted herself strangely, he watched her, seriously fucking awed by her physical strength. She was hugging a ten pound weight to her chest as she moved up and down, the light weight of the metal perfect for someone who wanted to tone, without bulking up. She’d done several reps of ten since he’d awakened, not counting the time he’d been in the bathroom. Her grunts had gotten louder the longer she worked out, letting him know they were becoming more taxing for her with each set of reps. Still, fifty or more inverted sit ups was pretty impressive, especially with added weight. _Sooo want to fuck her._

She stopped suddenly, stretching her arms down towards the floor, gently placing the weight on the hardwood before she moved her fingers to the side of her head, saying, “Hello?” Negan realized she must have a Bluetooth device in her ear. “No, it’s fine that you had to call me back. Really. Did you get everything straightened out?” she questioned whoever was on the other end of the call, her tone light and happy. “Now is perfect! I have plenty of time to talk. I have another fifteen minutes of my workout to do. Yes I’m being careful with my knee, Misha.” 

_Huh. Does Misha always call her at seven in the fucking morning?_

As she talked, she grabbed the pull up bar with her hands and raised her ass several inches to remove the hooks on the back of her ankles from the bar above her. Swinging her legs down, she dropped to stand on the floor, then moved to the next station to sit on the padded seat to work her legs.

“I forgot to tell you, I found the perfect gown for next weekend,” she informed the man on the other end of the call as she unbuckled the hooks on her ankles and set them aside. “It’s black,” she answered him, then listened to his response.

“I know you like me in purple, but I think this event calls for black,” she laughed shaking her head as she moved the pin in the weight machine to a lighter setting while her friend responded. “Of course I sent it up to Maya to alter,” she answered another question. “I know she’ll do it right. She said she can send it back by courier and it’ll arrive on Wednesday.”

_A gown? What kind of fucking event?_

After listening for a minute she complained, “Nooo, I don’t want to meet you there. I don’t want to ride in the limo all by myself!” You can’t come back here after you check in with the event coordinator to ride with me?” Gigi pressed him. “No, I won’t be ready to leave with you at noon to meet with her. The hair and makeup gals are coming at one. I won’t be beautiful until three or four … Aww. You are so sweet. Shoot, I lost track of my count.” She relaxed her legs, the stack of weights lowering into place as she listened to his response, before cajoling, “If you loved me you would come back here after you meet with the coordinator, and ride with me to the ceremony. If you don’t I’ll have to walk the red carpet all alone.”

 _She’s going to walk the red carpet?_ She and her friend were discussing a world which was foreign to Negan.

“If I loved you I would wear purple?” she repeated the man’s words. “Come on, Misha!” She shook her head, laughing as she started her rep over, pushing the foot plate to raise the weights once more. “It’s a little too late to find a new dress now, let alone a purple one. Trust me, you’ll love the one I chose. Hey, what time did you say your flight is coming into Reagan on Friday?”

His girl only did three reps of ten of the leg presses, stopping in between each ten to massage the back and side of her knee. _Why the hell is she stressing that injury?_ She didn’t move to the station to work her arms, which was the next station, instead staying where she was and massaging her knee further as she listened to Mikhail’s response.

Getting up from his step, Negan made his way to her, eating up the smile she gave him when she first caught sight of him. She reached out with one hand as he approached, wiggling her fingers. As soon as he was close enough, she gently tugged at his arm so he would bend down to her, and pressed her lips softly to his.

_Fuck you Misha._

Squatting down next to her bum knee, he wrapped his hand around her ankle, pulling and pushing her leg to bend and straighten it as he used the fingers of his other hand to press different points on the back and side of her knee. He was glad he couldn’t feel any swelling, but when he pressed on the side and back of the joint, her leg jerked and she hissed lightly from pain.

“You’re done working out,” he murmured firmly, cognizant of the fact she was trying to listen to her friend on the phone.

His good girl nodded at him, frowning as she probed the painful spot with her own fingers before she brought her hand to his face, running the back of her knuckles over his cheek lightly with a gentle smile. “No. Marshall and Hannah are at my mom and dad’s for the weekend. It’s Negan. Yes, we are getting along better now. Much better,” she assured him, winking at Negan at the hidden meaning behind her words. “He’s trained in sports medicine, so he just poked and prodded my knee and informed me I’m done working out ...yes he is a smart man … yes I will go put ice and heat on it.”

Gigi immediately stood up from her seat in compliance, so used to taking orders in both dance and life from her choreographer. Pulling at Negan’s arm, she motioned for him to go upstairs with her. “Yes, Misha. I have been thinking about when I’ll have the surgery… and yes I know the dance world needs me.”

When they reached the kitchen, she ended the call, telling her friend she’d see him when she got home from work on Friday since he would get to the house before she would, and he could just throw his things in guest room, last door on the left in the hallway.

_He’s fucking staying with her. That’s bullshit._

Tapping the red phone icon on her call screen, she turned to Negan and pulled him to her. Putting her arms around his neck she jumped up, wrapping her legs around his hips and kissing him deeply. His hands gripping her ass firmly, they enjoyed a mini make out session before she pulled back from him with a happy, “Good morning!”

“It is now,” he responded, mouthing along her jaw and down the side of her neck. “It would be a better morning if I could bend you over the fucking island.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“We need to put some fucking ice on your knee.” Negan groused.

_________

Mikhail hung up from his call with Gigi, dropping his phone onto his bathroom counter. He felt a bit unsettled, knowing something had been off about the end of his conversation with her. He replayed it in his mind, the change in the tone of her voice once her neighbor had entered the picture, and the sound of the breathy little hum he’d heard a minute before he’d heard the man’s voice in the background, stirring up some agitation. He knew that breathy sound because he’d heard it a million times, back when the Sokolovs were still living in New York and working with him. She would make the same noise every single time she would kiss Yuri. It was an ingrained response to the affection his malyshka was totally unaware of.

Misha took note of the fact it was seven something in the morning, and she hadn’t sounded surprised to see Negan. His mind didn’t want to jump to the conclusion it may have been because her neighbor had spent the night, but it did anyway. Unless they were workout buddies, who just happened to work out right after sunrise, it was very likely he’d been at her house all night. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the idea.

Yes, he was. Who was he trying to kid? He didn’t like it one bit. He shook his head at himself in the bathroom mirror as he stepped out of his silk pajama pants then moved to the shower to turn on the water, twisting his upper body from one side to the other to stretch his muscles as he waited for the water to get hot.

It wasn’t that he was unhappy at the thought of Gigi starting up a new relationship so soon after her husband had passed away. He, of all people, knew she had been lonely and emotionally frustrated for a long time, tending to her unappreciative, volatile husband. Emotional and physical intimacy were long overdue in her life, but why would she try to find them with an insensitive oaf, who had given her nothing but grief since the day she’d met him? _What is she thinking?_

His tiny ballerina deserved to be happy. He truly wanted that for her. He did. But if he searched his soul, and if he was absolutely honest with himself, he had to admit he had expected, when the time came, she would find happiness again with a man who truly knew what made her happy. A man who knew her inside and out. A man who knew every little detail about Gigi Sokolov because they’d been the closest of friends, and had loved each other as fiercely as two people could, for longer than she and her husband had been married.

________

“How did you tear the meniscus?” Negan asked her as he motioned for her to sit on one of the bar height chairs at her island.

The dancer complied, prodding the underside and side of her knee once more to pinpoint the source of the pain. It really didn’t hurt now that she’d stopped the weight bearing exercise. There was just a little ache from aggravating it, which she knew would go away within a few hours if she took a couple capsules of her curcumin supplement. “I hurt it while I was dancing. I heard the pop. Felt the tear as it happened.” She grimaced at the memory, clutching her knee as if she was reliving the moment.

“Why didn’t you have the problem corrected?” he asked her. “You have an ice bag?” He looked at her, waiting for her to point him in the right direction.

“Top of the pantry,” she didn’t need to point, since they both had a pantry in the same place, having noted their houses were identical when she’d used his bathroom at the back to school party. “In the lavender basket, top shelf.” She smiled at him rifling through the bin before he pulled out an old fashioned ice bag with a screw top. “I had planned on having the tear repaired, but then decided to do a series of stem cell procedures to help with the osteoarthritis. The thought was the stem cells would regenerate the joint, help to slow the progression of the arthritis, and then they would go in and repair or replace the meniscus, and any other parts of the joint which had been damaged by the OA. Moving forward there would be less degeneration of the joint.”

“Makes sense,” Negan nodded his head as he filled the bag with ice from the bin inside the freezer. “Did you have the stem cell stuff done?” It had been a few years since she’d first torn the cartilage. He had heard stem cell therapy could be miraculous for structural joint pain, but he didn’t think it took years to complete. He was wondering why she still hadn’t had the surgery.

“Yes. Those procedures were finished in a short period of time,” she informed him, not elaborating.

Closing the freezer and walking to the sink, Negan added some cold water to the bag. Turning back to her he screwed the lid back on, watching as her demeanor changed to one more pensive, her eyes flitting around the room as she went into her own head, looking for what, he didn’t know. Moving to her, he lifted her calf, and laying the bag of ice on the edge of the island counter top, he laid her knee on top of it.

“If you miss dancing so much, Gigi, why haven’t you had the surgery done?” There was more to her story than she was telling him, and being he asshole he was he was going to push her to find out what it was. “You could have been through surgery and physical therapy, and started dancing again a long time ago,” he suggested, watching her face closely.

Her eyes finally came around to his, and she nodded very slightly. “Can I tell you something?” she questioned. “Something I haven’t told anyone?”

“Sure.”

“No, I mean,” she paused as she corrected herself, needing to clarify what she’d said, “will you keep something to yourself if I share it with you? It’s something I haven’t told anyone else, because it could be devastating for my image, and my affiliation with ballet. This can’t be repeated. To anyone.” She was hoping she was conveying the magnitude of what she wanted to tell him.

Negan was the perfect person to tell. She desperately needed to tell someone, and he knew very little about ballet, and didn’t run in the circle of people from that world. It was one of the many things she found appealing about him. It also meant his loyalty, assuming he had any, would be to her and no one from her former world.

He could see she needed to unload on him, and he was more than fucking willing to be her dumping ground. She wanted to trust him and he, in turn, wanted to know every little fucking thing about her. He wanted to know all the good things as well as her dirty little secrets, so he would have pieces of Gigi Sokolov the rest of the world had never seen. He was also curious as fuck about what the big deal was.

He nodded solemnly, holding up one fist with his pinky extended. “Pinky swear,” he offered. He loved how her face lit up, her angst gone for a moment as she smiled at his promise and linked her pinky in his. She took it one step further, pulling his hand to her lips and kissing his little finger, pulling some of her romantic shit that he kinda fucking liked.

“The tear isn’t that bad, Negan,” she confessed. “The osteoarthritis is minor as well. The stem cell therapy worked wonders for the OA.”

He furrowed his brow, shaking his head as he tried to understand. He had read online both of her diagnoses were debilitating. “What do you mean?”

“It means a very simple orthoscopic surgery and a few months of physical therapy and I would have been dancing again as if nothing had ever happened. It means I really only need to wear a knee brace when I’m exercising or dancing so I don’t make it worse. I not only dance in the dark on the dock, Negan, but I get up every morning during the week, at five AM, close the curtains so no one can see inside the basement, and I do barre exercises and dance for a few hours before I get ready for my day. I’m taking a little bit of a chance I could make the injury worse, but since I’ll need surgery to correct the problem anyway, I just have to dance.” She was excited, smiling as she talked, showing him how happy dancing made her. “I could have blown my cover the day I danced in the gym for you. I just couldn’t resist that big beautiful floor, and I had assumed you were gone for the day. I figured if anyone saw me, I’d limp around for a few days afterwards, swearing at myself within people’s earshot about making my knee worse.”

“Seriously?” Negan was shocked, to say the least. Pulling one of the other bar stools so the front of the seat was touching the side of hers, he straddled it, wrapping his knees around the front and back of her chair, trying to position himself as close to her as possible. “I don’t get it. Why didn’t you just get it taken care of? You’ve given up the career you loved, when you didn’t have to?” Quiet for a few seconds, he then answered his own question, “The reason why you’ve kept your secret is fucking huge, isn’t it?”

Gigi looked at him for several moments, before she broke eye contact. Pulling her leg off the unnecessary bag of ice, she turned to face him. She spread her legs over the top of his spread thighs so they were practically nose to nose, needing the physical connection as she revealed more of her truth. It had unwittingly started pouring out of her, and she needed to keep going. She needed to unburden herself of the massive lie which had been eating at her for so long.

Once she was settled she answered his question, “There was a time I thought I didn’t want to dance anymore, Negan.” Her eyes welled up suddenly as she backtracked. “That’s not true. I love dancing with all my heart, and it’s been killing me that I’ve had to live this lie. I miss it so much!”

“What the fuck, Gigi?” he prompted her, the words harsh, but his tone soft.

“I lied about my knee because I didn’t want to dance with Yuri anymore,” she admitted softly, searching his eyes for any signs of judgement.

 _No. fucking. shit._ He didn’t know dick about her career field, but even he could figure out what it would mean if she would have stopped dancing with her husband.

“The torn meniscus was the perfect excuse for me to take a break while I tried to figure out how to move forward, and if I could dance without him, without shattering both of our careers. We’d been having problems. He went from being my loving husband to someone I didn’t recognize. For a few years before his aneurysm he’d become harder and harder to live with, constantly irritable, and he was always taking his bad mood out on me. At first he would nitpick at me about little things, but it got worse with time and he was constantly questioning everything I did. It became unbearable. Especially when he started criticizing me, personally.” Hurt showed in her eyes as she continued, “All of the things he used to tell me he loved about me, became things he couldn’t stand about me. It broke my heart.” She started to sniffle, and a few tears fell, but she continued her story, wiping them away impatiently.

“Since we worked together, we were _always_ together. When he first started to change I would at least get a break when we were rehearsing. When we were dancing he was still the Yuri I loved. We were still magic together.” The memory brought a wistful smile to her face, but it disappeared quickly when she went on.

“After a time he started criticizing my dancing, too, and that was the beginning of the end. I realized the only reason he hadn’t picked at me about my dancing before was because he was trying to behave in front of the people we worked with, and especially in front of Mikhail.

“It started with his body language,” she relayed as if pulling the scene from her mind, suddenly sitting up straighter in front of him as if in a dance pose. “He would tense, and his movements would become harsh and rigid when he was upset with me. It was all subtle, and most people wouldn’t have noticed it as they watched us, but _I_ could feel it. It began to happen more and more frequently, and suddenly we were two mismatched people trying to perform an angry pas de deux. We couldn’t connect anymore. We couldn’t feel each other anymore, so the magic disappeared.”

Negan was fascinated with what she was telling him, her marital strife a complete surprise to him.

Gigi kept eye contact with him as she spoke, her hands dancing in the air between them as her delicate fingers described how they came apart at the seams, her rigid hands physically describing to Negan the feeling of her husband tensing, her palms pressing together and then gracefully separating, tell the story of how she and her husband had grown apart.

“His constant anger was why I was injured,” she revealed softly.

The fact her description of Yuri’s mood had shifted from agitation and irritability to anger did not go unnoticed by Negan. “What do you mean, Gigi?” he prodded her, starting to get a little fucking agitated himself at the thought the man may have hurt her out of anger.

“We were doing a lift where I would turn in the air,” his dancer described, moving her hands as if she were Yuri, lifting his partner into the air with a twist of his hands and arms.  “He was upset about something I’d done, in a hurry to move on, and he spun me before I was off the ground. My upper body and thigh turned while my foot was still planted on the ground, tearing the cartilage. I thought Misha was going to kill him,” Gigi’s hands clenched into fists as she felt her mentor’s anger. “I’d never heard him yell like he did. He actually shoved Yuri that day. It was something I never thought I’d see.”

“Jesus, Gigi,” Negan soothed her, taking her hands in his own and rubbing the back of them with his thumbs. “There’s no fucking excuse for Yuri’s behavior. He knew better.”

“Yes, he did.”

Fresh tears started to fall in tracks down her cheeks, and he brushed them away with his thumbs. Pulling her to him with a hand around the back of her neck, he placed a kiss on her forehead, hoping it would comfort her.

“We found out, after he was hospitalized with the aneurysm, he’d had a series of mini strokes and other smaller aneurysms that probably caused the changes in his personality. The news didn’t make it any easier to live with him for that last year of his life, though, especially since he became more and more volatile before he died.”

“Did he ever fucking hit you, Gigi?” Negan was trying very hard to keep his tone neutral, because she didn’t need to deal with his anger at her husband.

“Oh, no!” she reassured him passionately. “He never hit me.” He was trying to hide his agitation, but she could hear her hero’s protectiveness, and she appreciated it. Leaning forward, she rested her forehead at the corner of his mouth, and after a few seconds he turned to kiss her brow.

The coach relaxed a bit, relieved to hear her answer, calmed by the intimate contact. He couldn’t fucking believe what he was hearing. Ballet’s fucking royalty had been royally fucked up, and no one had known it. In all the articles he’d read about her online, until Yuri’s death, there had been no mention of any trouble in their paradise. “What happened then?” he encouraged her to continue.

“I went to see a specialist, the day after I was injured. I went by myself. Yuri had a photo shoot with _DANCE_ magazine, and Misha was busy with company business. When the doctor looked at my scans, he told me he saw some minor degeneration from the arthritis and what looked like a small lateral meniscal tear. He said the surgery would be simple, orthoscopic, with a short recuperation period and some PT, and I’d be on my merry way back into the dance spot light. He mentioned the stem cell treatment, and advised visits twice a year to check on the progress of the arthritis.”

Gigi felt her relief growing as she poured her heart out to Negan. The concern on his face, and the change of the emotions in his expression as she went on, were endearing. He sat quietly, running his hands along the top of her thighs as she continued, “When he told me it would be an easy fix, I actually found myself distressed. I realized I had spent the previous twenty-four hours relieved at the prospect of having an excuse to take a break from dancing. The ballet we were rehearsing for was to open in a few months. I had it in my head that my understudy would take over dancing the lead with Yuri, and he would be so busy he’d never be at home with me. It sounded like heaven, because I’d finally get a break from him.

“The poor doctor couldn’t figure out what was going on when I broke down in tears on the exam table.” She chuckled at the memory, shaking her head and wiping at her own tears with her fingers. “I decided to be honest with him. I told him what I’d been feeling. I hadn’t expected him to offer me a solution. It just felt good to share my stress. The great thing was, he did offer me a very viable solution. He said, _‘Look, Misses Sokolov, it is all up to you how you handle this. Your medical records are protected by doctor patient confidentiality and HIPAA regulations. I can’t share any information you don’t want me to share about your case, with anyone, without your permission. This means you can either tell your husband you have a minor tear which can be easily repaired, and a few signs of osteoarthritis which are no big deal for the present, or you can tell him there has been damage to the meniscus which can only be corrected with repair or transplant and the osteoarthritis in the knee joints, if left unchecked, could possibly lead to permanent debilitation with time. Both assessments of the problem are true. It’s all in the wording.’”_

“Holy shit, Gigi!” It finally all came together, and he was stunned by what he’d heard. He rubbed one hand up and down on his beard, trying to process everything she’d told him.

She stared at Negan for several seconds before quipping, “I guess you can figure out how I decided to word things to Misha and Yuri … and the rest of the world.” Quiet for a moment, she then apologized, “I’m sorry I lied to you about my knee.” She was so grateful he’d listened to her without judging her, and she hoped he wouldn’t angry with her. One glance up at his face and she saw nothing but acceptance.

“I don’t give a fuck about that Gigi. It wasn’t something personal. You weren’t lying to me about something to do with us. That would be a different matter. This was a little white lie.”

“Negan?” She was overwhelmed by her feelings for him, suddenly needing to show him how she felt about him. Looking up her eyelashes at him, she ran her hands up the inside of his thighs, up to the juncture of the seam of his shorts, her thumbs searching the outside of the fabric for something to play with underneath.

“Yes, Gigi?” He squirmed where he sat, letting out a long low growl when she found was she was looking for and started to rub along his length with her thumbs.

“You said my lie didn’t have anything to do with us. Does that mean you think there’s an _us_?” She was a little excited at prospect he was looking at this thing they had going on as some sort of relationship. She hoped so. She had opened herself up to him in so many ways, and she really wanted to know he was interested in her for something more than just sex.

“Ahh, jeez, doll. You’re gonna make me go there, right now?”

“If you want some quick action before you go meet Merle, you’ll go there,” she stated as she opened the front of his shorts and slid her hand inside. “It’s up to you.” Wrapping her fingers around him she stroked him lightly a few times, flattered to find he was already fully erect.

“Yes there’s a fucking us, if you haven’t figured it out by now,” he answered curtly, but also a bit breathily. “There’s been a fucking _us_ since you jerked me around and felt me up in the hallway at school.”

“Not quite the wording I was looking for, but, I'll take it,” Gigi grinned, stroking him more firmly.


	15. He's Like a Sex Popsicle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to TwistedType, sthurman, Noexceptions, Dancer88, Debbie722, Erie24222, redhouseclan, JDMsNegan, Gypsy_Nyx, JusticeGal, for taking the time to comment on my little story. (Hope I listed everyone!) You don't know how much I appreciate you! To HotForNegan who sends me messages on Tumblr to review my latest chapter because AO3 glitches, and doesn't leave her messages here for me, and to Sage8771, who takes the time to comment even as she's writing her own fantastic Negan fics. If you haven't read her stuff, go. Now.  
> __________________

He was so close to coming, the sight of her lusciously tight asshole jacking him up as he thrust into her from behind. She was bent over the island in the middle of her kitchen, one of his hands splayed across her lower back to keep her right where he fucking wanted her. He ran his wet index finger over the pucker a few more times with the slightest amount of pressure, grinning at the sound of her keening. He was going to breech that baby soon enough, but he wanted to do it when he had the time for them both to fully enjoy it, not when he was in a rush to get off and go.

Hurriedly pulling his dick out of his girl, Negan reached over to the closest bar chairs at the island, turning one towards himself before sitting down on it, using his index and middle finger to call her to him. “Climb on up here, doll,” he ordered, moving his ass towards the front edge of the seat and resting his shoulder blades against the back of chair so she could fuck him good and proper. He wanted to look at her beautiful face when he came.

Panting, his girl climbed onto his lap, bracing her feet on the rungs between the legs on either side of the chair. Sliding down his length, Gigi immediately started moving up and down on him. The muscles of her thighs were taut under his fingertips as he caressed them, yet he could feel her shifting her weight so more of it was supported by one leg.

“Ah, fuck. Your knee, Gigi,” he cursed in between panting breaths, pissed at himself for forgetting the injury because he was so caught up in his own need for release. “Will it be okay?”

“No worries. Just making sure I don’t overdo it.” She nipped at his top lip, grinning wickedly before she teased, “I clearly won’t need to do this for long, Negan.” She couldn’t help laughing at the glare he gave her in response.

He wrapped his arms around her, his forearms and hands under her rear end, helping to raise and lower her on his shaft. “I got your long,” he countered, tightening his grip on her ass and yanking her down onto his cock with force, her laughter cut short by her gasp of pleasure. The little bastard started protesting in discontent at the slowing of their pace so Negan started to move her more quickly, setting a tempo he hoped she could keep up with. She didn’t hesitate to meet it.

She threw her back, mouthing an “oooh” as she rotated her hips seeking out the most pleasure.  Finding the angle which felt the best, she increased her speed, locking her hips so she could create the sensation over and over. Negan watched her, his eyes traveling over her from top to bottom, enchanted with how fucking stunning she looked as she rode him. She started mewling, and he pulled her to him, covering one of her teenie tinies with his mouth and sucking with force, while he looked down between them to watch his cock slide in and out of her. _Fuuuuuck, that’s nice._

“Fuck! Gigi, fuck!” Negan grunted, his arms burning with the strain of helping to support her weight as he closed in on his orgasm. _So fucking close._

Gigi had found her rhythm, and she clutched the sides of the back of the chair on either side of Negan’s torso, using it for leverage to move faster and harder. Caught up in what she was doing, she ignored the movement she noticed out of the corner of her eye in the glass panel in the front door thirty feet in front of her. By the time she realized the motion wasn’t a good sign, it was too late to do anything about it. The door swung open, and her mother walked in, the spare set of door keys Gigi had given her, in her hand.

“Mom!” she blurted in a gush of panting breath, hunching forward and grabbing Negan’s hair to pull him away from her nipple, yanking his head so his nose was pressed into her cheek. His girl’s aggressive gesture and exclamation caused her lover freeze in place underneath her, his eyes wide but amused as he turned his head to look at her face. _She looks like a deer in fucking headlights!_ His girl’s fingers twisted painfully into his hair in retribution when she felt him chuckle beneath her.

“Bonjour, ma chérie!” her mother greeted her in her smooth southern accent, not seeing her daughter as she looked down at the keys in her hands, fiddling to try to straighten out a few of them on the ring as she walked into the kitchen. “Marshall left his book here and he needs it so your father can help him finish that English summer project he has to do for school,” she informed Gigi. “You know your father always was the one to help you and Pierre with your writing assignments. Definitely not my forte.”

 _What the fuck?_ Negan couldn’t figure out why the woman speaking French with a southern drawl was still chatting away while their asses were buck naked right in front of her, but he wasn’t going to turn around to see what the fuck was going on.

“They all went to that greasy diner for breakfast, you know the one that always gives me indigestion?” Gigi stared at her mom with wide eyes and an open mouth as she continued to ramble, still trying to untangle the keys. “I don’t know why that happens, since I get something different to eat each time I go there. I told him I’d run over here and get the book for him while they ate, so he could do his homework before they go to see that scary movie this afternoon …” Her mother finally looked up from her task, trying to process what she was seeing as her rambling slowed dramatically, “…. you know, the one with the scary clown … who lives in the sewwwer … oh, my.”

Gigi was still mounted on Negan, legs spread around him, her eyebrows raised as she stared at her mother, true mortification setting in when she saw the recognition wash over the woman’s face.

“Oh, _my_ ,” her mother declared again, moving her eyes up and down the spectacle in front of her. “Um, he uh … he said he left it on his dresser. I better go get it, and just be on my way.” Gigi would have laughed at the sight of her mother, turning to scurry down the hallway towards the bedrooms, if she hadn’t been horrified. She let out the breath she’d been holding as her mother disappeared down the hall, relaxing her body only to gasp loudly and tense once more when her mother appeared again with a curious expression.

“Is this the handsome neighbor you were telling me about when you dropped the kids off yesterday afternoon?” she whispered loudly, as if Negan wouldn’t hear her since she was speaking in a hushed tone, and his back was to her.

“Mom, really? Now’s not the time!” Gigi questioned as gently as she could considering the circumstances, cocking her head at her mother and flitting her eyes towards the hallway to try to get her moving.

“You’re right, dear. Let me just get that book.” Estelle turned once again to hurry down the hall.

Gigi immediately hopped off of Negan’s lap, scrambling to grab her sports bra and shorts off the floor, throwing his khaki shorts at him before she quickly pulled the scanty top over her head, letting the spandex snap in to place. Pulling her shorts up her legs and yanking them with all her might, her body jumped up and down from the force she was using to hastily pull the garment up.

When Estelle reentered the kitchen two minutes later, Gigi had her back to her mother as she nonchalantly searched the cupboard on the wall which held the beverage glasses and coffee mugs. Her eyes weren’t really seeing what was inside it as she tried to regain her composure and calm her breathing. Negan, on the other hand, was leaning with his rear end against the lower cabinets next to her, in only his shorts, hair standing on end as he grinned widely at the woman in front of him.

“I found it!” her mother exclaimed proudly, holding the novel in the air, not at all phased by the half clothed, unfamiliar man who’d she just caught having sex with her daughter. “You really should tell Marshall he needs to clean his room, Gigi.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the state of the boy’s space, nodding her head at Negan to include him in the conversation.

He wrinkled his nose back at her, shaking his head in mock disgust.

Seeing him toying with her mother, Gigi nudged him with her elbow before turning around to give her mother a pointed look, hoping she would leave quickly. “Sure thing, mom. Thanks for picking that up for him. See you when you bring the kids back tonight!”

“Yes … right,” the woman responded, seemingly confused by her daughter’s brush off. She subtly cocked her head toward Negan as if to ask if her daughter if she was going to introduce them.

“ _Bye_ , mom,” Gigi blatantly suggested her mother leave once more, gritting her teeth and minutely shaking her head no in response to the unspoken request, frowning at Negan as he continued to study her mother, an amused expression on his face.

“Alright, well, I’ll just be going then,” Estelle announced mouthing, ‘So handsome!” at her daughter, once again acting as if talking directly to Gigi would preclude Negan from hearing her.

“Mom!”

“Okay, okay,” Gigi’s mother acquiesced, throwing both hands up in the air, as she finally walked towards the front door.

Negan wrinkled his nose at his girl, calling out to Gigi’s mother as she opened the door, “Bye, mom!” 

“Au revoir, um, I’m sorry, I don’t know your name,” Estelle apologized as she turned back to him, motioning to her daughter to remind him Gigi had refused to introduce them, so was at fault for the faux pas.

“It’s Negan,” he informed her with a wink. “Nice to meet you. I can see where Gigi gets her beauty from.”

Estelle was flustered for a moment at the handsome man’s blatant flirting, before she responded, “Yes … well, um, merci, Negan. It’s nice to meet you too! You know my husband is a handsome man. Gigi definitely has his eyes, I think …”

“Mom!”

“I’m going, Gigi! My goodness, you are trés impatient, today.”

Negan guffawed when he heard the door finally click shut, his girl admonishing, “You are downright rotten!” before breaking into laughter at her mother’s flustered response to him, and the rest of the awkward visit.

__________

“Was it everything ya dreamed it’d be?” the sleepy asshole on the couch quizzed the coach when he came through the sliders from his deck. The redneck was stretched out on his furniture, looking as if he’d just woken up from a nap. He must have been waiting awhile for the coach get home, which made sense since he’d told the man to meet him an hour before. Since he hadn’t texted to let Merle know he’d be late, his buddy had obviously made himself at home. It wasn’t the first time he had come home to find Merle in his house, invitation or not.

Negan was sporting a hard on the size of Montana and he just wanted to get to his room and take a shower, so he could jerk off to the image of Gigi riding him in her kitchen. After her mother had shown up and interrupted their morning romp, they’d begrudgingly decided to continue their fun later so he could keep his fishing date.

 _Fuck._ No doubt the man had figured out he was next door. Negan hadn’t hidden the fact he’d had a hard on for Gigi ever since she’d moved in. Why else would he be coming in the door so early in the morning?

“Suck my dick, Merle,” the football coach retorted as he made his way to the kitchen sink to get a quick drink of water. 

“Ya know I might just take ya up on that offer, if your dick tastes like Gigi’s pussy,” was the response from the family room, making the coach laugh heartily.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a crass fucking asshole?” the coach gibed, not validating his friend’s assumption.                                                                    “Lotsa times. I’m actually, kinda prouda that fact.” Merle was quiet while Negan downed a second tumbler of water and then set the empty glass in the sink. As he walked between the kitchen and family room to head down the hall to his room, he heard the redneck’s voice softly caution, “Don’t fuck with her, dickhead.”

Negan wanted to tell the man to go fuck himself but he could understand why Merle felt protective of Gigi. “Not planning on it,” he responded sincerely, then added, “so, fuck off.” He could hear his buddy’s cackle as he continued down the hall.

“Hey! Make sure ya do somethin’ about that boner while you’re back there,” his friend called down the hall. “I don’t want that thing pokin’ me in the eye while I’m sittin’ across from ya on that tiny boat a yers.”

__________

Gigi had been soaking in a tub of hot water with one of her favorite cbd bath bombs to help ease the pain in her knee. So much had happened in the last few days, and her obsessive compulsive mind needed to compartmentalize all of it to analyze it thoroughly and then store all of its parts in their correct places. She was not a fly by the seat of her pants kind of girl, or the kind of person who would just “go with it”. She had to overthink everything, with all of the why’s and what if’s, just in case. In case of what, she didn’t know. That wasn’t important. She just had to do it.

She relaxed for almost an hour, setting aside the conversation she’d had with Negan about her knee, and replaying her amazing night with him, smiling frequently and also quivering a few times at the memories. Not caring in the least if she was being melodramatic, she felt like she had a new lease on life after her night with him.

The foreplay had been amazing, and it had opened her eyes to a few things. One, she had simply needed Negan’s time and patience to climax for the first time at the hands of someone else, and she suspected once she was even more comfortable with him, her orgasms wouldn’t be such time consuming projects.

Two, she’d had no idea how great sex could be. She wondered how many women he must have slept with to become so familiar with all of the nuances of the female body, and to learn just how to touch her to make her tremble in response. It was obvious he wasn’t just playing with her as a necessary means to an end. He clearly got a kick out of her reactions, making sure to repeat the moves which elicited the best responses, smiling to himself as he’d done so, which tickled her.

Three, she had learned a few things about herself in the last few days. The praise kink had been a surprise for her, but more surprising was how turned on she’d been when Negan was playing rough with her. She and Yuri had had sex doggy style, but there was something which electrified her about the way Negan had slammed into her as if he couldn’t control himself, talking to her as if the filthy words coming out of his mouth were nothing remarkable. As if it was commonplace for him to ask women, _“Do you like the feel of my cock fucking your pussy?”_

When he’d demanded her compliance, bellowing for her to answer him, she had shaken in her nonexistent shoes with something less menacing and more delicious than fear, while her core had pulsed with pleasure. She’d been driven to answer him, and answer him properly, because she’d wanted the level of his pride in her to match the level of his fervor, the desire to be his good girl, juxtaposed with the lechery of it all. She’d never experienced anything like it, the arousal evoked, undreamed of. Just recalling it made a thrill run through Gigi, which settled between her thighs.

She found herself more than a little nervous about what would happen when she actually had to reciprocate during foreplay, since his level of experience left her with the realization she had a lot to learn. Other than a few strokes of his penis, and the not so grand effort of being on top for a while, she’d inadvertently gotten away with putting very little effort into his pleasure. _Can you search “Top Ten Foreplay Moves Men Love” on the internet?_

The way she’d teased Negan until he was dying to orgasm had been pretty darn good if she did say so herself. She was pleased with how it had heightened his arousal, enjoying the idea she’d had so much power over the intensity of his orgasm. He’d told her it was called edging, and she was pleased with herself for mastering his technique so quickly and turned the tables on him.

Having replayed all the luscious, sexy stuff, Gigi let her mind move to the stuff she normally avoided, and she was surprised to find a good bit of the agitation which normally associated with thinking about her knee injury, had abated. Sharing her lie with Negan had eased her mind to a degree she’d not expected, his support and comfort so soothing. His soft side had made another appearance, drawing her further into him.

___________

“She rode me like a fucking rodeo cowgirl,” Negan reported as he sat across from his friend in his twenty foot runabout, on the Potomac River.

“ _Reeeally_ ,” Merle responded thoughtfully to his friend’s admission. “I woulda pegged her for a missionary position kinda gal.”

“Me too, man. Prissy little thing surprised the shit outta me,” Negan confessed, making sure his bait was secure on his hook and casting his line back out into the water. They were fairing pretty well on their outing, having caught four good sized rockfish in less than two hours.

“Ya gonna go back for more?” Merle checked his own line before reaching behind him to find the egg and sausage sandwiches he’d picked up from the deli, pulling them out of the insulated bag he’d put them in to keep them warm. He also grabbed his thermos of coffee to refill their insulated mugs. “I can tell you she ain’t a one night stand kinda woman.”

“Fuck, yeah I’m going back. I’d be fucking crazy not to tap that pussy again,” the coach replied in all seriousness, quiet for a moment before he inquired, “You remember that blonde with the big titties you fucked around with for a couple of months last spring?”

“Jenna? The one that left me all starry eyed an’ shit?” the redneck remembered fondly.

“Yeah, that one. You said you were never the same afterwards?”

Merle nodded, a lecherous smirk on his face as he responded, “No, I damn sure wasn’t. I was never the same after I dipped inta that magic pussy a hers. Shame she was married.” His expression suddenly turned to one of surprise as his eyes widened in realization. “Shit! You sayin’ Gigi’s got one a them magic pussies?  I’m tellin’ ya, you’re screwed, man. You won’t be able to walk away from that.” The redneck shook his head in sympathy for his buddy’s plight.

“You don’t need to tell me I’m fucking screwed,” the coach groaned, disgusted with himself for being so damned smitten with her after only two nights of fun. “I knew it the minute I dove into her fucking deep end.” He had been obsessed with the idea of getting into her panties, and now that he'd tried her on for size, he knew he needed a piece of her on the fucking regular.

“You could do worse, amigo.”

__________

After her bath Gigi basked in her afterglow as she laid on her bed, drawing up plans for the renovation of the house. She was meeting with a contractor in the middle of the week, and needed to have her list of wants solidified by then.  As she relaxed, her phone whistled, alerting her to a text message from one of her favorite contacts, which was either the kids, her parents or Misha.

**3:18 PM     Misha**

You get your way, brat.

Worked it out so we can

ride together. :-P

 

Gigi smiled to herself. She’d had no doubt she would get her way. As much as he liked to fuss at her, he also catered to her every whim. If she crooked her finger Mikhail Baryshnikov would come running, a privilege women all over the world would envy. She counted on it. More than she should. It had been a bone of contention between her and Yuri at times, even before their discord, her husband jealous of how their mentor doted on her, and would always help solve his wife’s problems, or quell her upset, when he, himself couldn’t.

“That’s just what friends do for each other,” she had reassured her mate in their better days. “Most women talk to their girlfriends about these things. I talk to Misha. You should be grateful you don’t have to deal with my ‘drama’ _,_ as you put it, since it makes you uncomfortable.” Using the word “uncomfortable” had been Gigi’s honey coated way of reminding him he didn’t have the patience to deal with anyone’s emotional turmoil, other than his own. Yuri hadn’t been able deny the simple truth.

Even at the beginning of their relationship she had been aware of her partner’s flaws. Besides wanting to be taken care of, her husband had not been the most selfless man. He had let her know why and how much he adored her every day, and her shared in her joys, but he’d always expected her to handle her own problems. Any emotional upheaval was an inconvenience for him, and he knew it. There was one reason Gigi had been able to tolerate his self-centered nature. His good outweighed his bad, and he was well aware of his inability to support her, emotionally, so let her seek solace with their best friend.

Guilt started to seep into the forefront of her mind as she recalled the conversations she’d had with both Misha and Negan that morning, negative emotions surrounding both recollections even though she felt much lighter after sharing her secret with Negan. The ballerina knew exactly why she was feeling out of sorts. Mikhail was her best friend. He had been since shortly after they’d met. He, along with her husband, had been her substitute family from the time she’d moved away from Northern Virginia to New York as a teenager. She and Misha were much closer than even he and Yuri had been, she and her mentor much more intimate in every aspect of their relationship. There was almost nothing Gigi and Misha didn’t share, whether it was a bottle of water, business plans, their hopes and dreams, or the details of their romantic relationships. The man knew almost everything there was to know about her, except for two things. He didn’t know she’d been lying to him for several years about her inability to dance, and he didn’t know about the shift in her relationship with Negan.

She had chosen not to tell him the truth about her knee, because at the time she’d been hurt, the ABT had spent an insane amount of money promoting the brilliant ballet Misha had choreographed, the one she and Yuri had been rehearsing for the day her meniscus had been torn. The company had ended up spending even more money to rework all of the promotional materials and ads, removing her name and adding her understudy’s name. Her mentor had taken her exit from his new ballet very gracefully, more concerned about her health than his monetary loss, heightening her guilt about her lie.

When the show opened, the choreography was praised highly, but the reviews for the dancing were not kind. Comparisons were made between Yuri’s new partner and Gigi which were not flattering for the new lead. Ticket sales slowed once the reviews were published, and Gigi watched, horrified as her lie ended up costing the company and her Misha, even more money. The guilt she felt about all of it weighed on her every single day.

She was also feeling guilty because last discussion she’d had with Mikhail about Negan was before her relationship with her neighbor had changed from adversarial to intimate. It was no wonder he’d sounded surprised her neighbor was with her while she was working out that morning. She didn’t know why she hadn’t updated Misha about Negan. The omission was odd, considering the new romance had been at the forefront of her thoughts as she and Mikhail had made their plans for his visit, talking several times in the last handful of days. The sense of unease she’d been feeling about sharing her new relationship with him was disconcerting, and the fact she had been spending far too much time trying to figure out exactly how to present it to him, added to her unease. Gigi felt like she was lying to him left and right, and it felt like betrayal, in her mind.

Picking up her phone, she texted Misha back.

**3:22 PM**

_I love you._

 

Less than thirty seconds later, her phone whistled again.

 

**3:22 PM   Misha**

_I know._ <3

Gigi smiled at the pat response they used at each other’s endearments. She made up her mind the perfect time to tell her friend about Negan would be while he was in town for the honors ceremony.

___________

“She’s so fucking honest,” Negan confided in Merle. He didn’t know why he was telling his buddy this shit. Maybe it was to see if his buddy would find her behavior disconcerting as he did.

“Yeah, she is.”

“Too honest.”

“She’ll tell ya anything. Ya just gotta ask. She’s got no damn filter,” Merle shared. “I can tell ya anything ya wanna know about her, after havin’ coffee with her for two weeks. Go ahead, ask me, somethin’,” he challenged.

Negan raised his eyebrows in response, trying not to get pissed at the man’s bragging, because he knew Merle was just trying to illustrate Gigi was an open book. He knew Merle would never fuck with his best friend’s girl. It was the number one rule in the unwritten, drinking buddy’s friendship manual. The ballerina’s morning coffee buddy could talk shit about her, and flirt with her, but he’d never fuck around with her behind Negan’s back.  “Okay, what’s her favorite food?” The coach started with something easy.

“Her mother’s home-made croissants. But she won’t eat 'em 'cause of all of the carbs.”

Negan shook his head, not surprised at the answer. “Her favorite book?” There was no way the asshole would know the answer to that one.

“ _Gone With The Wind_ ,” the groundskeeper countered. “She’s read it a buncha times. Had a black cat for awhile named Rhett Butler, when she was living in New York.”

Negan nodded his head, impressed with the morsel of information.  _Time to go deeper._ “What’s the story with her dead husband? Sounds like he was a selfish prick,” Negan fished for information, trying to find out more details about Gigi’s marriage.

“Yeah, he was,” the groundskeeper confirmed. “But Gigi knew it. Sounded like it was kinda a tradeoff. She was in charge of every damn thing in their life, which she liked, but she also had to be in charge of every-damn-thing in their life.”

“He sounds like a dick.”

“Yes and no.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was crazy about her, man. Thought she hung the damn moon,” the redneck explained. “He was a momma’s boy, and she’s a control freak … she took care a him right good.”

“So they were a match made in fucking heaven,” Negan cut across him thoughtfully. It was obvious Merle was talking about Gigi and Yuri’s relationship before her husband had started acting like a fucking asshole, but even then the man wouldn’t have won any husband of the year awards. The coach gave himself a point for knowing things about the relationship that his friend didn't know, but he still played along. “If she’s such a fucking control freak, what appeal does she see in playing on Coach Negan’s playground? She knows by now I always have to be in charge.” The question was genuine, but he was more talking out loud to himself than asking for his friend’s opinion. Merle answered his question anyway.

“She was tired of bein’ in charge. The pussy could barely take a damn leak without her holdin’ his dick. It got old.”

“She told you that?”

“Not in so many words, man. Just get her talking about it. You’ll see. Her whole mood changes when she talks about him. And not in a good way. She’s feelin’ a little guilty she’s relieved she doesn’t have to take care a his shit anymore. I told her to get over it; what’s she’s feelin’s just normal.”

“You charge her by the hour for your fucking therapy sessions with her?” Negan goaded.

“Nah,” his buddy replied. “She’s listens ta my shit just as much as I listen ta hers.”

“And you’ve learned all this shit about her during your morning coffee klatches?”

“Yep,” Merle felt a bite on his line, and started reeling it in carefully. “And when we talk on the phone.”

“You talk on the fucking phone?”

___________

“We literally just started up the relationship, mom,” Gigi tried to convince her mother she hadn’t been hiding her new affair. The kids and her father were still at the movies, so Estelle had decided to call to get more information about Negan, the minute she’d arrived home after picking up Marshall’s book. Strangely, her mother could have cared less she’d walked in on her daughter having sex. She was more upset Gigi hadn’t told her she was having sex with her neighbor.

“But we just talked about him Friday afternoon, and you acted like he was just a crush, not a lover,” Estelle prodded her for an explanation of what she’d witnessed in her daughter’s kitchen.

 _Lover? Who says that?_ “Oh God, mom. Please don’t use that word!” Lover. Negan was her lover. While she actually liked the idea of it, hearing her mother say it made her cringe.

“He’s sooo handsome,” Estelle gushed. Ignoring Gigi’s plea, she questioned her excitedly, “Is he a good lover? I bet he is!”

“Mom!” Gigi wasn’t sure if she was more horrified at her mother’s inquiry, or her overuse of a word a daughter should never hear coming out of a mother’s mouth. “I’m not talking to you about this.”

“Oh, come on,” Estelle prompted. “Let me live vicariously through you. It’s been so long since I’ve had a new lov …”

“Don’t say it!” Cutting across her mother, Gigi shuddered at the unsolicited confession. “Will you drop it? Please?” She and her mother were close, talking every day to check in on each other, but they’d never discussed the details of their love lives.

“If you answer me real quick,” Estelle’s southern accent oozed through the phone as she presented her ultimatum, “I’ll let it go.”

Gigi thought about the proposal for exactly four seconds before she gushed, “He’s amazing!” Her pride quickly turned to horror at what she’d just shared. _Just so wrong._

“I _knew it!”_ Estelle gloated. “I could tell just by looking at him. I mean, he’s like a sex popsicle!”

“A sex popsicle? A what? What do you m…” Gigi started to laugh, unable to contain herself when she figured out her mother’s mistake. “Do you mean he’s like sex on a stick?”

“Oh, you know what I meant. Same thing, sex popsicle, sex on a stick,” Estelle chided her daughter, finally laughing at her herself once she heard the difference out loud. “You know, your father and I can keep the kids again tonight, instead of bringing them home, if you want. We can just drop Hannah off at the house and drop off Marshall at football practice tomorrow.”

“Would you?” Negan had told her he’d be back later, to finish what they’d started, and not having to work around the kids would make things easier. She wasn’t sure yet, what or when she would tell them about her and the coach, so she and Negan would have to keep out of sight until she figured it out. “I’d really appreciate it, mom.”

The line was quiet for several seconds before Estelle changed the tone of the discussion, reassuring her daughter softly, “You know it’s okay, Gigi, for you to move on. I know you well enough to know you have some worry rattling around in your heart about disrespecting Yuri’s memory.”

“You know me well,” Gigi admitted.

“I, of all people, know how Yuri changed so radically over the last few years. It’s been a long time since you’ve been in a romantic relationship, ma chérie, even if you were married. It’s time for you to be happy.” While she had shared her marriage troubles with her mother back when they’d first started, her mother didn’t know the truth about her departure from dancing. It was another source of guilt for the ballerina.

“I know that, and you know that, but the rest of the world doesn’t know that, mom. I _have_ been worrying about what people will think if they know I’m getting involved with someone so soon after Yuri passed away,” Gigi revealed, her distress obvious in her tone. “This thing with Negan is so exciting, and feels so right to me, but I know how it would look to someone the outside. I’d probably judge me harshly, too. What kind of woman falls into bed with another man, two months after her husband dies?”

“You’re sounding a little bit like your mother in law, Gigi. Are those your words coming out of your mouth, or hers? She and the rest of the world don’t need to know about Negan, until you’re ready to share the relationship with them.”

Gigi marveled at how her mother understood her so well. “You know that’s not always the way it works, mom,” she huffed. It was sad to say, she’d spent quite a bit of time worrying about this very matter, knowing she would have very little control over what was posted on social media and on the internet once word got out.

Since she and Yuri had been the darlings of the ballet world for so long, there was no doubt, if she didn’t wait until a respectable amount of time passed to be seen with a new love interest, there would be an ugly backlash. Once Yuri had ended his dance career, she had advised their publicist to stop posting on social media other than an occasional update, and words of thanks for their fans ongoing support, because she’d wanted to keep their trials to themselves. Being seen out in public, or with Negan would spark new interest in her life, whether she wanted it or not. She knew she shouldn’t care about the opinions of people who really didn’t know her, but it was hard not to, especially when she knew the backlash would likely be validated or even sparked by her own mother in law.

“I know sweetheart,” Estelle commiserated. “The only thing you can do for now is enjoy your new lover, while you try to figure out how to ease information into the social eye when the time comes.”

“You just had to say it again, didn’t you, Mom?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I tell you I just love pairing Negan and Merle together as friends.


	16. It's Just A Fucking Blow Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter about a blow job, but not really about a blow job.  
> ____________

“I’m telling you I don’t really know what to do.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know what to do?”

“I think the statement is pretty straight forward, Negan,” Gigi returned. “I’ve never done it before. I mean, obviously, I could probably figure it out as I go, but …”

“Seriously?” he cut across her incredulously.

“Seriously, what?”

“You’ve never given head before?”

He felt a little fucking ridiculous, having the discussion with her in his current position. Gigi was laying beneath him on her back. He had crawled up her body and was hovering over her on his elbows and knees, nude, the head of his dick at her lips, ready to do some serious face fucking. His fun had come to a halt before it had even started, when she’d put her palms flat on his hip bones, pushing gently to keep him at a distance, preempting him with, “Um, Negan? I’m a feeling a little bit lost here.”

“What do you mean you feel lost?” he’d dropped his chin to his chest, looking down his torso at her as he’d questioned her. That was when she’d informed him she didn’t know what to do.

He had shown up outside the French doors leading into her bedroom at ten at night, needing to fuck her senseless after spending all day thinking about everything he’d done to her, and plotting what he wanted to do to her next. When Gigi had informed him the kids were staying another night at her parents, he’d wasted no time backing her into the wall and kissing her ardently, pushing himself all the fuck into her and pinning her in place, because women fucking loved that shit. She had whimpered, sighing against his lips, the fingers of one hand running through his hair, while the other hand grasped his side a little fucking desperately, trying to pull him closer, despite his being glued to the front of her.

“I missed you today,” she’d murmured against his lips as he’d pulled her tank top up her torso, her confession making him feel all fucking good about himself. She’d moved her lips away from his long enough for him to pull the shirt over her head, then pressed them back to his, kissing him softly. “I couldn’t wait for you to come back tonight.”

The same words coming out of any other woman’s mouth would be too much, too soon, and he would have run for the fucking hills at that kind of needy ass bullshit, but he knew his girl was just being honest. And truth be fucking told, he’d felt the same fucking way all day, lame son of a bitch that he was. He just hadn’t been ready to tell her, so he’d settled on grinding his cock into her belly, and giving her one of his best, panty dropping, sloppy wet - little bit of teasing with his tongue - kisses, topped off with a low, satisfied moan, so she would at least know he appreciated her sentiment.

_________

Negan glanced down his torso at her, as her gaze flitted up and down between his dick and his face, her embarrassment apparent. _Fuck me. I hope we’re not going to have to spend a lot of time talking this out._ Scooting back down her body until he was face to face with her again, he ran his lips over hers lightly. “How is it that you’ve gone through life without giving anyone a blow job, Gigi?”

“No one ever asked,” she informed him in a matter of fact tone.

“Oh, I’m fucking asking, Gigi,” he confirmed dramatically.

She didn’t want to tell him Yuri had turned her down when she had wanted to perform oral sex on him because he had felt it would be degrading to her. “You’re not a porn star, Gigi. You’re my girlfriend.” Of course he’d told her his opinion for the first time when she’d already had her mouth around the head of his penis, pushing at her forehead to stop her, despite the desire in his eyes. She had backed away, confused, not having expected his harsh opposition. She’d been so excited to try something new with him, wanting to please him, and he’d shot her down in the worst way. He had confided in her later, his mother had always been insistent only hookers and porn stars would go down on their knees for a man, and any man who'd expect such an act obviously didn't respect women. His confession hadn't eased Gigi's feeling of humiliation in the least. 

Aware she had delayed Negan’s impending fun, Gigi reached down between their bodies, wrapping her hand around his length and stroking him firmly. While she felt fairly inept when she compared her level of experience to his, she knew she was good with her hands. She had spent years fine tuning her different techniques, relishing the sight of her husband coming apart at her touch.

“You know I have to do everything perfectly, Negan,” she poked fun at herself. “Will you teach me how to give you a perfect blow job?”

His nostrils flared at the feel of her hand working his dick. She may not know how to give head, but she had some magic fucking fingers to go along with her magic pussy. “You better fucking believe I will.” Resting his forehead on her cheek for several seconds, he enjoyed the feel of her swirling her thumb around the head of his cock, spreading his pre cum over it. Gripping the wet glans in the middle of her palm, she jerked just the tip with minute strokes, squeezing only on the upward motion, causing him to grunt and groan with pleasure. “What are you _doing_ to me, Gigi? Fuck, that’s good,” he praised her, his tone laced with wonder, breath stuttering over her cheek in response to her handiwork.

She kissed him in response, wordlessly thanking him for this appreciation as she continued to massage him. After a few minutes of her attention, Negan reluctantly pulled himself away, intent on schooling his girl in the fine art of cock sucking. Getting up off the bed, he grabbed one of the pillows at the headboard. Standing a few feet away, he dropped it between his spread feet as he motioned her to him with his index and middle fingers.

Moving to stand in front of him, Gigi was suddenly aware of his powerful frame looming over her as he stood with his feet apart, shoulders back, studying her. Her heart skipped a beat at his beauty, hazel eyes behind his incredible long lashes, gazing at her with longing.

“I’m gonna need you on your knees,” he ordered lowly.

Her hands on his hips, she lowered herself to her knees, grateful the position didn’t cause any strain on her injury. Feeling awkward with his erection in front of her face, she avoided it by looking up at him, trembling with both excitement and nervousness over what was to come.

His girl’s worry was showing in her posture and on her face. Negan reached down, cupping her chin in his hand and rubbing his thumb back and forth on her cheek to comfort her, murmuring, “Relax, Gigi. You’ll be fine.”

The tone of his voice was one Gigi had only heard a few times, soft and sincere, and the sound of it made her desire to please him, soar. Courage surged through her as she finally broke eye contact and looked at his penis in front of her. “Tell me what you want me to do, Negan.”

“Why don’t you just feel your way around?” he suggested, putting two fingers under her chin to raise it, forcing her to make eye contact with him once more. Wrinkling his nose at her, he gave her a little shiver as he pulled her towards him gently, prompting her, “Take a little taste.”

Her eyes were wide as she listened to his instruction, and he loved how she nodded at him so fucking earnestly, in confirmation. The fact she wanted so badly to make him happy, while she was quaking with nervousness made him so fucking proud of her, a sentiment which seemed out of place in the moment. _Tell her._ He studied her for the longest time, finally making himself push out the words he instinctively knew she needed to hear, “So fucking proud of you, Gigi, wanting to learn how to do this for me.”

His beautiful fucking girl’s response was immediate and profound. She laced the fingers of one hand with his on her cheek, squeezing them tightly. A small whimper escaped her as she pressed her forehead and nose into the front of his thigh as if to hide. He felt her breath on his leg as she inhaled deeply through her nose and then exhaled, making a concerted effort to calm herself. Squeezing her fingers affectionately, Negan put his other hand on the top of her head, keeping his palm in place has he used his fingertips to gently massage her scalp, waiting for her to work through whatever the fuck she needed to work through.

His mind raced as he waited, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he had made a mistake getting involved with this woman who was dragging around a fuck ton of emotional baggage. Too much baggage. Uncomfortable fucking baggage. _It’s just a fucking blow job, for Christ’s sake._ _It shouldn’t be such a big fucking ordeal._

He was seriously starting to question if he wanted to deal with all her shit while he was still trying to work through his own shit. His shit was simple, he reasoned with himself. It was about finding his way as he let go of Lucille, and he was doing a pretty fucking good job at it. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. Gigi’s shit, on the other hand, was about her entire fucking past. It was getting to be too much.

His cerebral bitch session was inadvertently put on hold when he felt his girl’s nose skim back and forth over his hip bone, causing goose bumps to rise on his skin. Moving parted lips across his abdomen, she started to explore him, kissing, and nipping, poking out her tongue here and there to taste him. When she sucked on the skin at the juncture between his hip and thigh, he groaned, squeezing her hand where it still lay on her cheek, spurring her to use more force. Negan let his head fall back, panting open mouthed at the sensual pain. “Good fucking start, sweetheart,” he encouraged her.

Gigi felt his penis twitch against her cheek as she mouthed her way towards his center, and she smiled to herself when he gently nudged her in front of his erection with his hand. She found his sense of urgency flattering. Nuzzling his length with her nose, she breathed in his scent, the mix of masculine soap and his natural musk causing arousal to pulse in her core.

Negan heard her breathy moan as she worked, letting him know she was getting caught up in what she was doing. He let out a groan of his own when she licked his balls with a broad tongue to taste him, sucking one into her mouth tentatively. “Perfect,” he praised.

His girl’s response was exactly what he’d hoped for, her enthusiasm and boldness increasing with his verbal reassurance. She lathed and sucked on his balls one at a time, then rolled her tongue under and over them. She shocked the shit out of him when, while lavishing attention on one, she opened her lips wide, and using her index finger she pushed the other into her mouth to suck on both of his balls at once. “Fuck, Gigi!” he grunted, using his hand on the top of her head to pull her into him, forcing her nose into his groin while his fingers of his other hand squeezed hers where they now rested on the front of his thigh.

Her mouth full of Negan, her nose buried in his scent, Gigi was more turned on than she would have thought possible. The intimacy created by filling her mouth with him was exquisite, her excitement heightened by his cursing and moaning. Finally unlacing her fingers from his, she pulled his erection down on a ninety degree angle, pleased to see a trail of pre cum on the tip.

Negan watched her as she studied his cock for a moment before her lips surrounded the head. Her tongue rolled around the tip a few times, cleaning off the fluid. She moved the glans in and out of her mouth several times, applying more pressure with each pass. He growled at her, low and long, impressed with her instincts. “Out-fucking-standing, Gigi. Can you take more?” He urged her, wanting nothing more than to shove his dick down her throat, her meticulous exploration having served as a major fucking tease which was making it hard for him to keep himself in check while she was still trying to find her way. His girl immediately complied with his request, eager to please, moving forward and back, taking more of him in.

“ _Fuck!_ Open, Gigi!” Negan commanded urgently, his spine curling forward and hips pulling back from her in response to a sudden jolt of pain. Wrapping his fingers underneath her jaw, he pulled at it in an attempt to pry her mouth open. “Teeth, Gigi! _Fuck!”_

“Teeth?” she repeated curiously after she moved her mouth off him, cocking her head as she looked up at him, trying to decode his actions and exclamations, knowing she’d done something horribly wrong.

He could feel her upset as she tried to figure out her mistake, so he put the blame on himself, explaining, “I forgot to tell you the most important rule for giving the perfect blow job.” Kneading his dick with his fingers to soothe the inflamed skin, he informed her, “You want to wrap your lips around the inside of your teeth so they don’t scrape along my cock.” _How could she not fucking know that?_

“Oooh!” Gigi’s hand flew to her mouth when she realized what she’d done. _“Oww!”_ She could imagine how her teeth must have felt on his sensitive skin, the idea of it making her shudder in sympathy. “I’m _sooo_ sorry!”

“Not your fault,” Negan shook his head. _“Fuck.”_ He rubbed a particularly sore spot on his cock, chuckling at the mishap.

Gigi’s concern unwittingly turned into amusement, and she tried to stifle a grin as she inquired with a wink, “You want me to kiss it and make it better?”

“Yes, I fucking do, sassy,” he replied indignantly.

Ready to go at her again, he moved his hips forward, holding his cock in position with one hand as he wrapped his other hand around the back of her head. Her mouth opened without hesitation, like a baby fucking bird’s, her lips sliding behind her teeth as he pushed his dick slowly into her mouth. _Fuuuuuck me._

Trying not to gag her, he pushed in until he felt the head start to skim the back of her palate, and then pulled back. His girl was totally fucking relaxed, letting him push and pull her as he pleased, which literally tickled his balls. 

Feeling no resistance from her, he started moving with purpose, moaning at the sensation of her wet, full lips wrapped around his cock, his girl interpreting his responses like a fucking pro and adjusting the pressure to please him. “My awesome fucking girl, giving me a perfect fucking blow job,” he grunted as he moved shallowly in her mouth for several strokes, curling his fingers into her hair and using it to move her forward and back on his dick. “Can you suck it for me, Gigi? Suck my cock like a good girl?” Negan moaned at the sound of his own filthy suggestion, wanting the prissy fucking girl on her knees in front of him to suck him dry.

God help her, Gigi wanted to be his good girl. Badly. Purring at his request, she sucked in her cheeks, noisily slurping and sputtering, struggling to find a rhythm to move with him while keeping the suction consistent, determined to be perfect for him even though her lips and her jaw were already tired from the pressure and tension.  She deemed her struggle unimportant, his panting and groaning, and the way his head was thrown back in pleasure were all the motivation she needed to keep going.

Negan began to move more forcefully, occasionally pushing the head of his cock into the back of her throat for a second or two, the sound and he feel of her gagging around him, spurring him on. He could see her eyes starting to water, as she dug her fingernails into his ass cheeks with each deep thrust.

He slowed for a moment, backing almost out of her mouth before he pushed into the back of her throat, gently forcing her to stay in place for several seconds when he felt her instinctively try to back off as her oxygen was cut off. She grunted, and gagged, and he let go after a count of five, cooing, “Trust me, sweetheart?” as she tried to catch her breath.

Just as he knew she would, Gigi nodded, assuring him, “I do.” And like the good fucking girl she was, she looked at his cock with determination, ready to take him in again.

“So good for me.” Moving his dick back in front of her lips, he pushed between them once again. She immediately started sucking as he moved in an out, and he pumped with force, finally pushing deep into her throat, letting out a throaty laugh at the feel of the muscles contracting around him, and the sound of her gagging. But his amazing fucking tiny ass dancer held still, tensing only for a second before she relaxed, her grip on his ass loosening as she gave in to him. _Gave in to me_. Because she fucking trusted him.

Pulling back a fraction of an inch to allow her to breath, he gave her several seconds to take in some air before he pushed himself back down her throat, groaning loudly at the thrill of fully controlling her every fucking breath. His infatuation with the idea possessed him, and he started fucking her mouth shamelessly, her hair gripped in his fist as he held her in place, sprinting towards his orgasm.

“You okay, sweet girl?” He hoped to fuck she was as he looked her over for signs of distress.

His prayers were fucking answered when he heard her mouth full of cock grunt out an “Uh, huh,” around him. It was no holds barred from that point on, and he pumped in and out of her mouth at a steady pace.

At some point, in the midst of his frenzy, Negan looked down at Gigi. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, her body heaving when her throat contracted while he pushed in deep, over and over, giving her just enough time to take in a breath between each stroke. Tears were rolling down her cheeks from gagging, and bit of saliva was running from the corners of her mouth, since she'd had no opportunity to swallow while his cock was in her mouth.

The sight of her, on her fucking knees for him, debauched and drooling as she tried so fucking hard for him, shoved him over the fucking edge. He backed up a few inches, positioning his dick so just the tip was in her mouth, having just enough presence of mind to know it would be too much for her if he came down the back of her throat. _Too soon._

“Mother fucking, amazing, cock sucking, fuckity-fucking woman, my fucking Gigi,” he rambled as his perfect goddamn girl collected every last drop of his come in her mouth, then swallowed it without prompting. “ _My fucking Gigi_ ,” he reiterated, his heart pounding and breathing heavy as he pulled her off his dick, pushing her head against his groin, caressing the side of her face affectionately as she sucked in deep, noisy breaths, swallowing repeatedly, suddenly having the freedom to do so.

Call him her angst dumping ground, her goddamn emotional baggage handler, or her fucking pussy ass bitch. It was all fucking good. He knew he would deal with all her high drama shit, because she was his good fucking girl.

Kneeling down in front of her, he took in her dazed expression as she wiped at her wet chin and eyes with shaking fingers. Knowing he’d overwhelmed her, he sat his ass on the carpet with his back against the side of the bed, stretching his feet out in front of him. “Here, Gigi,” he patted his chest, signaling for her to lay against him, physically guiding her as she moved to straddle his thighs. She scrambled into place as if she couldn’t connect with him fast enough, collapsing against him and burying her nose in his neck.

He had a pleasant flashback to his Lucille, thinking about how she liked to lay chest to chest with him when she wanted to feel more connected to him. He had always liked the closeness they had shared when she was on top of him. His wife and his dancer were so different, physically, though. Lucille had been tall at five foot, nine inches, so he had always laid on his back and she’d stretched out on top of him.

His tiny dancer could curl up in his lap, light as a feather, melting perfectly into his form, no matter what position she was in. He kinda dug how he dwarfed her, and could dominate her with his physical presence alone. Her petite stature created in him a sense of protectiveness, and a strange fucking desire to coddle and pamper her. _So very, very fucked over this woman._

Running his fingertips up and down Gigi’s spine, he murmured sweet nothings to her, telling her what a great job she’d done and listing off the things he’d liked about her blow job, knowing she needed the validation.

What he had going on with this woman was so different than any relationship he’d had in the past. While a few of the women he had slept with were wild cats, letting him do whatever the hell he’d wanted with them, Gigi was different. Those women had let him do anything and everything because they had let _anyone_ do the same to them. It wasn’t because he had been anything special or any more worthy.

Sure, there'd been a certain thrill at dipping his cock into a willing ass, or fiercely twisting a woman’s nipples because she’d begged him to. Even so, when it had all been said and done, knowing the women had done the same with everyone else had usually turned him off to a second go round, unless he was drunk and needed a quick lay.

Aside from the few the wild ones, most women he’d fucked had drawn lines in the sand they weren’t willing to cross. Ever. They’d kept control in the bedroom, despite his being the dominant partner, with their yesses and noes. And there usually were too many fucking noes. There were strict, hard and fast rules about what they were and weren’t willing to do.

He would have never tried to face fuck Lucille, because he knew she wouldn’t have let him. She hadn’t liked rough stuff, and when she had given him head, it had always been on her terms. Sex with Lucille had been pretty good, but he had never been allowed within a one inch radius of her asshole, his dick never had the pleasure of titty fucking her ample breasts, and he hadn’t been allowed to come in her mouth. Not even on his fucking birthday. Luckily, there had been plenty of other things to keep their sex life fairly satisfying for twenty plus years.

The woman in his arms was different than all the other women in his life. He was still trying to figure her the fuck out, but it was clear she liked she liked him taking control of her. She let him gag her with his cock because he liked doing it, and she wanted to make him happy. In his mind, the best part was she hadn’t let anyone else do it. He wasn’t one of a few dozen guys who’d slid their cocks down her throat. He was the only guy.

As he pondered his girl, he ran his fingers down her spine, and between the crack of her ass, following its line to the back of her pussy, where he dipped his fingers into her folds, humming with satisfaction at the fact she was soaked. Sure, he could feel the moisture where her pussy rested on the crease between his thighs, but he needed to play in it to reassure himself she’d enjoyed herself. He needed to know she wasn’t just letting him do whatever the fuck he wanted even though she hated it. He needed to know she got off on his pleasure, and maybe she just happened to get off on the same stuff he did.

Gigi squirmed as he skimmed his fingers over her clit, panting a few times as she pushed herself down into his fingers.

“Are you my good fucking girl?” Negan whispered, kissing the top of her head. _What the fuck just came out of my mouth?_ The words sounded foreign to him when there wasn’t a hard on and some healthy lust inspiring them.

She was quiet for a moment before she responded thoughtfully, reminding him of her sentiment from the night before, “I really like being your good girl, Negan.”

Again, the fucking honesty. Sitting up straight and pushing at her with his chest so she would sit up as well, he wrapped one arm around her back, and cradling her head with his other hand he kissed her hungrily in response to her confession. There was something about his girl, this intelligent, classy, beautiful woman, wanting to be good for him, wanting to make him happy, which pleased the fuck out of him.

Breaking their kiss, he looked in her eyes, replying with the first thing that came to his mind. “Thank you, Gigi.”

_Big, fat, pathetic ass, fucking pussy boy._


	17. Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter about sex, but not really about sex.  
> ______________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems notification may not have gone out about chapter 16. Just a head's up there's a chapter about a blow job, before this chapter about sex. :D

Gigi found it more than pleasant, waking up to feel of Negan’s semi-erect penis nestled in the crack of her bum, his hand running up and down her bare side, fingers exploring, dipping down into the curve of her waist before rising again with the swell of her hip. They had moved to the bed on his prompting, after she’d started dozing off on his chest, and she had fallen asleep on her side with him spooning her.

She purred a little “Mmmmm,” to let him know she was awake, and was enjoying his attention. It was still dark outside, the digital clock and white noise app on her phone on the nightstand displaying 2:12 AM in a calming blue hue. She wondered if he had been lying awake since they’d gotten into bed, or whether he’d recently awakened. His fingers skimmed from her breast down her belly, and then lower, where he lightly caressed her mons. His breathing in her ear was becoming more pronounced, and she could feel his erection growing as his hips canted gently to slide it up and down her cleft. She welcomed his fervor, despite the hour.

After he’d come in her mouth, she’d felt worn out, as well as a bit discombobulated. It was almost as if the intensity of their fooling around had made her brain and her emotions to go haywire, and she had needed time to snap out of it. She’d felt unusually needy, wanting to stay on his lap forever, and it hadn’t seemed liked he’d minded. It was if he’d understood her frame of mind, and he'd taken the time to feed her what she’d needed to settle herself.

She loved pleasing him, and she loved learning exactly what to do to please him. She got turned on by turning him on. Her own arousal had been ignited by performing the blow job, but since she’d been out of sorts when it was over, she hadn’t been in a place to seek out her own satisfaction. She’d fallen asleep longing for her new playmate.

Lifting her top leg, she bent it at the knee, laying it over the outside of his thigh to spread her folds open for him, and she sighed when he wasted no time, his fingers immediately moving to tease her clitoris, gliding forward and back along either side of it for several seconds before circling it. She was still wet, the lubrication easing his path along her delicate skin. She couldn’t stop the low keening and whimpering coming out of her mouth.

“Negan … I …” she started, her words trailing off as the pads of his fingers skimmed lazily over a particularly sensitive nerve deep in her folds, her hips moving in opposition of his strokes to heighten the sensation.

“Yes, Gigi?” His soft, slow, graveled timber confirmed he had recently awakened.

Honing back in on her clitoris, he barely skimmed over it, taking her breath away. He skimmed it repeatedly, with torturously slow motions. When she could finally speak, she had no words other than, “Please?”

The sound of an amused huff of breath was his only response. In no apparent hurry, he continued to slowly pet her. Using his middle finger and thumb, he pulled back the hood of her nub then slid the pad of his index finger around the exposed, hyper-sensitive tip. Gigi keened with each stroke, sure she’d died and gone to heaven, and Negan was God’s gift to her for doing some sort of good in her life. Her eyes, which had been open only for a few minutes, drifted shut again while she reveled in her bliss.

“Please what, sweetheart?” he finally murmured in her ear, his voice like velvet, comforting in the quiet darkness.

_My Negan. My bliss._

Kissing the sensitive skin just below her ear, he mouthed his way down her neck and across her shoulder. Gigi could feel a smile quirk up the corners of his mouth as she quivered with pleasure. Covering his hand between her legs with her own, she stroked it lovingly, still having no words to praise his efforts or to answer his query.

Now.

 _Now._ She needed him now.

Her sudden sense of urgency to feel Negan inside her seemed odd given the unhurried tempo of his play, but it would not be assuaged. Reaching her hand back and sliding it down between them, she encircled his erection with her fingers. Shifting her hips to tilt her entrance towards him, she pushed back and down on him as he gently thrust forward to meet her.

_Now._

Slow and sensual, their hips moved gracefully together and apart while they danced in the dark, panting breaths and the rustling of bed linens the only sounds in the quiet of the night, along with their soft moans. Wrapping an arm around her torso, Negan rolled them gently so he was on his back, Gigi’s back to his chest. He immediately restarted the rhythm of his hips, and the motion of his fingers between her folds after changing their position.

She was at a disadvantage, laying on top of him, with a limited ability to move, relying on him to thrust up into her from underneath, canting his hips over and over at a slow, steady pace. He toyed with her nipples for a time with his free hand, causing her back to arch and her cries to increase in volume. A joyous, sensual laugh escaped from deep within her at the feel of his kisses on the side of her face, his fingers pleasuring her, and him filling her so completely. When she turned her head to look at him he was smiling with her, sharing her joy.

There was no hip snapping, no filthy talk, no pounding, no cursing, just soft, sweet and languid. There was nothing overwhelming other than the pleasure he was evoking and how she was feeling about her new lover. _My lover._ Her initial resistance to the phrase had disappeared, and she found herself infatuated with it.

Gigi finally found her words, and they started pouring out of her, a stream of consciousness in the form of disjointed whispers and murmurs in between her whimpers and cries.

_“Mmm. Love this”_

_“So good”_

_“way you feel”_

His fingertips, so gently caressing just the right spot with just the right pressure was driving her higher and higher as his hand started to move more quickly. Caught up in her own rambling, and the fire in her core, it took her some time to realize his breathing was increasing, laced with small grunts and growls as her accolades and endearments went on.

_“Just divine”_

_“perfect inside me”_

_“Ohhhh, my"_

The more Gigi revealed, the more precious, involuntary, breathy responses she received in return, so she continued to vocalize her feelings, her hand on the side of his face, turning his mouth to her ear so she would hear every wonderful sound spilling from his lips.

_“My Negan”_

Sappy, romance novel words were escaping from her, divulging feelings which she hoped weren’t too sentimental to share.

 _“Beautiful"_ she professed in a gush of breath.

He growled at her utterance, hand suddenly clutching at her hip, fingers digging in, trying to angle her back to him more so he could thrust deeper. His thighs clenched together, allowing his hips to rock more freely. His staccato breaths became more heavily infused with the sounds of his desire. Moans and whispered curse words tickled the shell of Gigi’s ear as his fingers continued to thrill her. It was becoming more difficult for her to speak, her whimpers and cries uncontrollable as she closed in on her orgasm.

_“my Negan”_

_“Mine”_

With one long, low groan Negan curled his hips up into her with zeal, thrusting more deeply as he started to come.

“Again,” he grunted, more a request than a demand.

“Mine” she complied, speaking from her heart. _“_ My Negan."

Gigi felt his head start to push back into the pillow, his lips pulling away from her ear. His hips jerked and fingers twitched, and she pulled him back to her, keeping his mouth close. She wanted to hear his climax. She needed to hear how she made him feel.

His fingers had slowed and stopped moving between her thighs while he came, but it was only seconds before they started moving again, even as he was still groaning in his release. His panting, and the feeling of him pulsing inside her, along with the restart of his skilled fingers after their short break was all Gigi needed to push her into her own climax. She had been so caught up in her passion, she hadn’t had the time to worry about her orgasm. It just happened. Needing more of him, she turned her head, pressing her lips to his as her hips spasmed and jerked.

_My perfect._

Gigi lay on Negan, coming down from her high, relaxed and contented. His hand disappeared from between her thighs, flopping onto the bed next to him. A minute later his other hand pulled off of her hip and made its way underneath the pillow supporting his head.

He rolled her after only a few more moments, leaving her on her side and rolling onto his back again. Thirty seconds later he squirmed, and then bent to his side opposite her to scratch an itch on his knee, all of his movement scooting him a few inches away from her on the bed.

His body language was clear. Her words had been too much for him. She didn’t panic and she didn’t chide herself. There was no way she could have known. “Was it too much for you?” she guessed, shifting to her back, several inches from him to give him his space, but turning her head to look at him in the dim light of her phone.

“Fuck, yes,” he objected, more vehemently than she would have expected. Or liked.

“I get it, Negan,” she reassured him, trying hard not to take offense. “I still have so much to learn about you. It’s inevitable I’ll do things you're not crazy about.” Reaching out to run her finger along his arm, she stopped herself, pulling her hand back because she didn’t want to force herself into his space. He gave her no response, so she teased, “Like scraping your penis with my teeth,” trying to lighten the mood.

She heard his soft chuckle, as he reached up to scrub at the beard on his face with his fingers. He rolled to the far edge of the bed, and she held her breath, worried he was going to get up and leave. She exhaled soundlessly when he settled himself on his side, his back to her, fluffing his pillow.

Gigi got up from her side of the bed, walking into the bathroom to get a drink of water, pondering his response. She walked back into the bedroom, glass in hand, standing four feet in front of him as he lay with his eyes closed. She took another sip of her water, studying his still form.

“It made you uncomfortable. But you liked it?” she pressed, already knowing the answer. The question was whether he knew the answer.

“I’m not going to fucking discuss this to death, Gigi,” he advised her indignantly.

She smiled to herself in the dark. He knew the answer. He just didn’t like the answer. “Okay,” she replied amiably as she walked back to the bathroom sink to deposit her cup.

She crawled back into bed with him, laying a few inches away from him on her back, just in case he turned towards her. If she faced him she could look pushy. If she laid with her back to him, he might think she was angry, so laying flat on her back would look neutral, right? 

She lay in the quiet, waiting to see if he would turn to her, internally chastising herself for being pathetic and needy. As she started to doze off, she gave up, rolling onto her side, facing the dresser beside the bed. Within a few seconds she felt him move on the mattress behind her, and she stifled a purr when his hand snaked around to her belly and pulled her against him while he wriggled to press himself to her back.

“I don’t know what to do with that kinda shit Gigi,” he murmured against the back of her crown.

She nodded minutely in response, so as not to disturb him, enjoying the cuddling she’d needed after her orgasm. “I know,” she reassured him. As the minutes went by, she heard his breathing even out. Her own sleep wasn’t far behind.

_My Negan._


	18. Monday, Monday, Can't Trust That Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gigi looked at Merle thoughtfully. She needed to leave Negan alone, as much as she wanted to insist he talk things out with her. She had tried pushing him once before and it hadn’t worked. As much as she wanted to settle things and move on, it sounded like he needed to work on things in his own mind before he’d be able to work them out with her. “So when he’s acting like a jerk, you just let him blow off steam, and wait for him to get over himself?” she deduced.
> 
> “Pretty much,” he validated. “Not that I don’t aggravate the piss outta him in the mean time.” He chuckled at the thought. “I just try not ta pluck at him too much about whatever is pissin’ him off.”  
> ___________

“What the fuck?” Negan’s head whipped to the left as he navigated the access road around Mount Vernon High School, his eyebrows shooting up at the sight of his football field. A back hoe, a dump truck and a few other pieces of massive construction equipment were parked at the far edge of the field, outside the running track which circled it, along with several pick-up trucks. There were workers in hard hats and reflective vests wandering the area, some looking at paperwork, others drinking coffee, many unloading equipment and portable fencing from the back of a flatbed truck.

Assuming some emergency gas or water line work needed to be done, he hoped the fuckers weren’t going to impede his practice. He needed to get his ass out there to talk to whoever was in charge, to make sure the assholes stayed out of his way. This was not the way he wanted to start his day.

Already agitated with the unexpected inconvenience, he was even more pissed when he pulled up in front of the phys ed wing at ten minutes after seven and there was a news van parked at the curb in the spot where he would normally park his charger. The side of the van was lettered with _WJLA-TV,_ the logo of one of the local stations. It was parked right over the middle of two spots, despite only needing one. _Fucking twat waffle._

He’d be damned if he was going to drive all the way back to the other side of the building and park in his designated spot, just because some inconsiderate asshole had high jacked his premium spot in front of the door. Driving further down the access road he found a spot and parked, grabbing his duffel bag and locking the door before he jogged towards the field. He was already running late, and would need to go straight to the field to talk to these construction fuckers before the kids arrived, instead of dropping his stuff in his office like he normally did.

He had woken up tired, so he didn’t have the patience for whatever bullshit was going on in his field. He hadn’t gotten much sleep over the weekend, thanks to his new sex toy next door, and last night he’d slept even less than the nights before. He had felt unsettled after Gigi’s amorous soliloquy, his sleep restless even though he’d been curled up with her comforting ass.

When Negan had awakened late, ten minutes before he needed to leave for work, Gigi was already gone. Her bathroom had been wet with humidity and there had been other traces of her morning routine which he’d slept through, and her bedroom had been filled with the scent of citrus and vanilla. He assumed she’d left for work extra early, and he was sort of pissed she hadn’t woken him up to say goodbye, but he was also a little relieved.

As he rounded the concession stand at the edge of the field, he spied the news crew in the middle of an interview. Gigi and Simon were in front of the camera, Gigi speaking animatedly to the field reporter who was interviewing her. Simon, beside her, was nodding thoughtfully at whatever the fuck she was saying. The coach stopped in his tracks, listening to his girl’s response to the question which had been posed.

“I’m just so grateful I could assist in pulling together the necessary funding to replace the deteriorating track. There wasn’t money in the county budget to fully fund the project, but thanks to a generous donation from the Baryshnikov Foundation, and donations of money and team apparel from my friends at the Under Armour Headquarters in Baltimore …” The dancer raised her hand, palm up, gesturing gracefully to the company’s UA symbol on the front of her new, purple tank top with “Mt Vernon” lettered on the front, as if she were one of the fucking Price Is Right models showing a contestant their ‘Braannd Neeww Carrrr!’, “… we are breaking ground today on a brand new track!”

_What the shit? What the shit! What new track?_

Negan fumed even as he watched his picture perfect girl nail her interview. She was a pro, a natural with her answers, while wearing the Under Armour shirt along with UA stamped shorts and running shoes he hadn’t seen before. She was beautiful, her hair down instead of in the usual ponytail or messy bun she wore to work, her waves and curls falling at her shoulders. She had taken the time to put on some makeup, which was atypical. Her skin was normally fresh and bare, with just a little of that black gunk on her eyelashes to accentuate them. Simon was standing next to her, wearing the school’s colors in the form of a purple and white polo shirt which also sported the high school’s name and the Under Armour logo, his bushy mustache neatly trimmed and combed for a change.

How the fuck was it they were breaking ground on a new fucking track, when he hadn’t heard a thing about the new found funding she was listing off? He was going to fucking pummel Rick for not cluing him in. And how the fuck did Simon find out about the track when the head of the fucking phys ed department, and the entire Mount Vernon universe for that matter, didn’t even fucking know? The man had only been back in town for four days, for fuck’s sake. _Fuck to the goddamn fucking fuck!_

“Gigi Sokolov is like a tiny miracle, dancing into our lives,” his college buddy spoke into the camera, passionately. “My track and field program was crumbling, right before my very eyes …” Simon gestured to a spot on the track close by, which had some large cracks due to decay. “… and she pirouetted in to save it, along with 3M, who donated the needed polyurethane surfacing material. We also need to thank Walker Construction, who has been kind enough to do the work at a discounted rate. I just couldn’t be more thrilled!”

Gigi, the reporter and the camera man all laughed at Simon’s comic relief. The reporter finished up with the duo, asking to do a solo interview with Gigi. Simon caught sight of Negan standing to the side, and headed over to talk to his friend.

“Mornin’!” the track coach greeted him enthusiastically. “Did you catch our interview?”

“Yeah,” the football coach responded crisply, challenging, “I’m just curious as to how the fuck everyone but me knew construction on our new track was going to start today. I didn’t even know there was going to be a new fucking track!”

Simon brought his hand to his mouth, running his spread thumb and index finger down over the sides of his mustache to smooth them, trying to buy himself some to time to figure out how to answer the question. “Umm, well, when I asked Gigi if you would be here for the interview this morning she told me she had tried to pin down a time to talk to you about it, but you guys never got around to it. I assumed she meant she hadn’t had time to talk to you about the interview, not that she hadn’t talked to you about the new track.”

The track coach stood with his hands on his hips, wondering how the new teacher had managed to fund the new track and coordinate the start of construction with Rick and the county, without discussing it with the department head. Bad move on the ballerina’s part. Negan did not take well to surprises.

“Well, you assumed fucking wrong,” the man in question retorted irritably, even though Simon wasn’t the cause of his anger. He stormed away from the man, determined to find out just how the construction company planned to demolish the old track and build a new one, without getting in the way of his practice.

As he passed by the tiny pain in the ass cheerleading coach and the news reporter, he could hear her discussing the differences between her dance career and her new teaching career, her enthusiasm for her new athletic endeavor apparent. “I just love it! There is something about working with my students, coaching their dancing and tumbling, that is so satisfying.”

“Do you think you’ll ever go back to dancing ballet?” the woman inquired. Negan slowed his pace, wanting to hear his pain in the ass’s answer.

“I ask myself that question every day,” Gigi revealed. “But I won’t be doing any serious dancing until I have corrective surgery on my knee.”

 _Liar, liar, pants on fucking fire._ Negan smirked at her deception, picking up his pace again, tuning out the rest of the pair’s back and forth until he was out of earshot.

“Hey!” he bellowed when he reached the group of construction vehicles at the far end of the field. Remembering there were tv cameras close by, he brought his volume level down several notches. “Who’s in charge here?”

“I am,” a tall, balding man in a flannel shirt and a hard hat looked up from his clipboard and walked over to Negan. “Tobin Walker,” he introduced himself. “What can I do for you?” 

“You wanna tell me how the fuck you plan to stay out of the way of my football practice while you tear up and rebuild my track?” _May as well get right to the fucking point_.

“ _Your_ track?” the foreman questioned him in a friendly tone. “Ohhhh. You must be Negan! Head of the department, right?”

“And you know this, how?” _Yes, it’s my fucking track._ Negan didn’t like the doughy asshole already.

“Misses Sokolov told me you’d be showing up for practice about this time. No worries about us getting in the way. She made it very clear we needed to make sure our work didn’t impede your football practice!” the man shared, his tone conveying his sincerity. “No ifs, ands or buts!”

“Oh, really.” The coach gave tiny pain a few points for filling dough boy in.

“Yes, sir,” the man responded. “She made it very clear we would have to answer to her if you had any complaints.” He leaned in closer to the coach, confiding, “She’s such a sweet lady, that one, but I get the feeling I wouldn’t want to get on her bad side.”

“You are so fucking right about that,” Negan commiserated, pissed as all get out about the shit show on his field. Knowing what a pill she’d been the last time they had been at odds with each other, he wasn’t looking forward to discussing the matter with her, because they were going to discuss it in a big fucking way.

__________

She wasn’t surprised when he barely looked at her during the PE department’s ten o’clock meeting to go over details for gearing up for the new school year. Gigi had known it would be a problem she and Negan had never discussed the aftermath of their meeting with Phillip Blake, and the steps she’d taken to compensate for the loss of his yearly donation to the physical education department.

Her mind had gone into overdrive when Negan had advised her Penny Blake was going to be put back on her cheerleading squad whether she liked it or not. Unable to accept the Mean Girl and her bad attitude would be forced on her, she had started formulating her plans to ensure Mount Vernon would not only get it’s new track, but would also be able to sever its ties with the district attorney.

Before their meeting with the Blake, Gigi had made some phone calls, determined to find a way around his donation. She could have easily donated the money herself, but knew it would be a conflict of interest. She also knew Negan wouldn’t be happy if he felt she had some sort of advantage over him.

She had called her friend Jessica’s husband, whose daughter had been in Gigi’s ballet class at Irma Horvath’s studio when the dancer had first moved into the area. The woman’s husband was directly involved with appropriations at the county board of education. Gigi had mentioned Negan’s statement about his department not having used all of its budget in the last several years, curious as to whether the money was still available, or whether it was doled out to other departments or schools for other needs. She was thrilled to find out every penny was still available to for Mount Vernon to spend.

Knowing the amount allotted wouldn’t be enough to complete the large job, she had called Misha, and a friend at Under Armour’s global corporate office, securing monetary donations from both, ensuring the school would have the full budget needed for the refurbishment. Her buddy at Under Armour had suggesting talking to 3M about donating the material for the track surface, which she did the following day. Rick had volunteered to call Tobin Walker, a friend whose contracting company specialized in playground and athletic surfaces and construction.

She had worked quickly, and had run to the office to talk to Principal Grimes before Blake arrived. She’d had just enough time to fill him in, and get his blessing, before the district attorney arrived, which meant she hadn’t had time to clue Negan in to the fact they no longer needed to cater to the Blakes. She had been able to feel his anger from across the room as she had challenged the DA repeatedly.

At the time she’d had to trust she would be able to explain everything to the department head after the meeting, but Negan had been so angry with her he had refused to discuss the matter with her, even though she had asked him repeatedly to do so. She had been concerned he was still in the dark, knowing construction was going to start. She hadn’t known him for long, but she had learned enough about the man to know he was even more of a control freak than she was when it came to his work, and would be upset when he showed up at work to find his football field had been invaded. There wasn’t much she could do about the inconvenience, but at least Tobin had offered to get started right away on the project. His crew would break down and haul away the old track before Mount Vernon’s first home game in two weeks, promising to work overtime to have the new track completed in time for the start of cross country season in the fall.

“I just heard the news!” Tara greeted Gig excitedly when she entered the meeting room. “Congratulations on getting Simon his new track!”

“No kidding! Way to go, girl!” Michonne added with an approving nod of her head.

“So who do you know up at Under Armour?” Shane questioned her from his seat at the table next to Paul Rovia. “I went to school with Dan King, who works in their PR department.”

“All right people!” Negan strode into the room, ignoring the teachers' discussion and dropping some folders on the head of the table. “Let’s get started. We need to make this quick, since my schedule has been fucked for the day by the track construction and the paparazzi fawning all the fuck over our cheerleading and track coaches.”

Gigi tried not to frown as she listened to the department head cursing in the professional setting. She looked around the table at her workmates to find them smiling and laughing at his foul commentary.

“Swear jar!” Shane reminded him, Simon repeating the command as he walked into the room, while Paul nodded in concurrence. Walsh held out his palm, waiting for the football coach’s money as he turned to Gigi to explain, “The swear jar money pays for Friday night happy hour drinks for the department. Thanks to our colorful department head, we usually have enough money to drink until we all pass out, by the middle of September.”

Negan gave the man the stink eye, pulling his wallet from his back pocket, and throwing a five dollar bill on the table. He started to put it away, but changed his mind, pulling out two more bills. Dropping a second one on the table he taunted, “Fuck you, Walsh.” Then dropping another five he added, “And fuck you again.”

The staff laughed at the gesture, Paul clarifying, “I think that defeats the purpose of the swear jar, don’t you guys?”

“You want a free fucking happy hour in two weeks, or not?” the football coach questioned him as he pulled his wallet back out of his pocket, counting out five ones and throwing them at the basketball coach. “Alright, let’s get going …”

________

_Fucking noisy fucking back hoe and jackhammers, making it fucking impossible to talk to my fucking players over the fucking noise. Fuck Misha and his fucking foundation, donating a ‘generous’ fucking amount of money. And fuck Gigi for going around me to make changes in my fucking department._

__________

She bounced into his doorway at lunchtime, looking cute as fuck, a half-eaten, hard-boiled egg in one hand, and a strawberry with a bite taken out of it in the other. He turned back to his computer screen after looking at her with a blank expression.

“Can we talk about the new track?” she inquired with too much fucking energy. She was bouncing on her toes as if she wasn’t able to stand still.

“No.”

Gigi was quiet for a minute, before she announced, “You’re cute when you’re all cranky and serious.”

“That baggy tank top makes your tinies look non-existent,” he countered irritably, without looking at her. _Sexual harassment isn’t a fucking thing when you’re fucking someone._

She laughed uproariously, bouncing gracefully away, and he didn’t see her again until the end of the day.

________

Negan was packed up and ready to go at three thirty, ending practice a half hour early because he had a massive headache from the demolition noise and all the yelling he’d had to do so his instructions could be heard by his players. He’d give dough boy credit, though, they’d broken down and carted away a good chunk of his track in eight hours, and the fucker had assured him they would stay as late as they could for the next few evenings, so they could get as much done as possible while the field was empty. Maybe Pillsbury wasn’t as bad as he’d initially thought.

Locking the door to his office, he walked across the hall to the doors leading into the gym, hearing the sound of a pop number filtering out of the room. Opening the door and stepping inside, he stood in the doorway watching as the cheerleaders rehearsed what looked like a dance number. Gigi was in the middle of the group, dancing with them, her knee encased in a neoprene brace, Velcro straps holding it tightly in place. _Where the fuck did that come from?_

_I’m too hot, hot damn_

_Called the police and a fireman_

_I’m too hot, hot damn_

_Make a dragon wanna retire man_

 His girl was all smiles and energy as she danced with her team, calling out instructions even as she moved.

“Come on, Steph! Show me that tight turn you gave me earlier!”

“Great footwork, Frankie!”

Sometimes she danced the same steps they danced, and other times she would do her own thing, her moves complimenting their choreography. She was fucking everywhere. Sometimes in the middle of the pack, sometimes in front, facing them, watching them closely even as she moved. From the looks on the kids’ faces, they were enamored of dancing with their coach.

Negan was enamored of her as well. She was the shit, his girl, standing out in the crowd, despite her height. It was as if a spotlight was shining on her as she moved, radiant and fucking perfect, sparkling like glitter in the sunlight. There was something about her. His girl was fucking magic, and he knew he wasn’t the only one who could see it. It was why Gigi Sokolov was the darling of the ballet world. She exuded happiness, kindness, grace and light, everything Negan was not, his good, fucking pain in the ass, girl. _Fuck her._  

He walked along the wall towards the doors to the main hallway as the group finished their number. “Bye Coach!” a few of the kids yelled out to him, others joining in. “Bye!” He raised a hand over his shoulder in response, smirking when he heard one sweet, genuine voice louder than the others, “Bye, Coach! Hope you have a good night!”

The football coach grunted in response.

________

“What’s got yer panties in a twist?” Merle prodded the coach when he ran into him in front of the building. He’d greeted his friend with a “Hey, asshole!” and he was sure he’d heard Negan growl in response.

“Whose panties wouldn’t be in a twist after such a fucked up day?” the coach snapped in response as he continued to walk.

“Awwww. Poor baby. Should we hit the Keg tonight so you can tell yer best buddy all about it?” Merle sympathized.

“I don’t need your fucking therapy sessions, dickhead.”

“My, my, my. Aren’t we a cunt today?” the groundskeeper goaded, trying to get more of a rise out of the man.

Negan stopped in his tracks, his head slowly turning to his buddy. Huffing out an exasperated breath he suggested, “Meet me in an hour at the bar? I need a fucking drink. You’re buying since my wallet’s empty.”

“Got it, sweetheart,” Merle jibed. “Should I bring some Midol?”

Negan restarted the fucking long ass walk to his car, raising his middle finger at the man over his shoulder. He heard his friend laugh in response.

________

 _‘Post coital dysphoria - a condition marked by feelings of agitation, melancholy, anxiety or sadness after intercourse, even when it’s good, consensual sex. The condition can last between five minutes and two hours’_ , Gigi read in the Relationships section of Huffington Post, online.

 _Anxiety, maybe. Agitation, melancholy, and sadness, no._ The strange thing was, the odd feelings she’d experienced had only served to strengthen her feelings for the man who had induced them. She was simply trying to understand them, since they were new to her.

Both Hannah and Marshall were out with friends, so she was eating her dinner at the island in the kitchen, sitting on one of the bar stools, her laptop open in front of her. Using one finger as she scooped up a forkful of salad with the other, she typed another query into the Google search bar. ‘ _Anxiety_ after sex’. She clicked on the first link which popped up.

_‘Sub drop … frequently happens when boundaries are tested’._

_He definitely tests my boundaries._ Before Negan, she had never experienced the sensation of feeling out of sorts after she’d been intimate. Not that she’d had a lot of sex partners to compare him to.  After their middle of the night romp, she hadn’t experienced the sensation, only the new relationship-have I done something wrong and is it big enough to make you dump me-stress which had accompanied his response to her praise.

Gigi had spent her day wondering why, when everything about giving him head had been so lusciously thrilling, she had felt so rung out emotionally, afterwards. She hadn’t been sad, as some of the articles were describing. She more felt like she had been in a fog she’d been struggling to find her way out of, tired, and especially needy.

After reading page after page, she was convinced her ‘post-coital fatigue and anxiety’ resulted from a submissive role she’d taken with Negan during the encounter. When he’d taken charge of her physically, was rough with her, overwhelming her in his dominating, sensual way, she’d experienced the emotional shift afterwards.

It was a new feeling, but not a bad feeling, especially since Negan had spent the time afterwards physically coddling her and praising her. The term for how he’d treated her was aftercare, she read online. His gentle care had brought her out of her fog, and the entire experience had intensified her feelings for him, which had already been heightened when he’d brought her to orgasm. Their weekend full of intimacy had drawn her further into him, hard and fast.

She found it interesting they had more than one relationship dynamic. They had a specific way they interacted with each other at work, where there was an equal amount of push and pull. Even so, he still wanted to be the one in charge, which she’d learned the week before. He had been angry with her for dominating the meeting with Blake, and ending the unhealthy ‘take and give’ relationship the man forced on the school, even though it was a win for all involved. While he clearly would have loved to have put the DA in his place, he was angry Gigi had been the one to do it.

She was amused he hadn’t been willing to move forward with her until she had apologized to him. He’d needed her to admit she’d stepped on his toes. Then, and only then, was he willing to look at her, talk to her, and sleep with her. Yet he still hadn’t been willing to let her bring up what had happened at the meeting so they could talk it out.

Gigi smiled at his need to be in control, finding it interesting she was so willing to give it to him in so many regards when she had always insisted on having control in the past. What it boiled down to, was her desire to be in control wasn’t as great at her desire to make him happy. If control was his thing, so be it. If her apology was what he needed so be it. The matter hadn’t been worth the ongoing battle, in her mind.

There was a difference between _I’m sorry I stepped on your toes, because it made you unhappy_ and _I’m sorry I stepped on your toes, because I was wrong._ She had intimated the former, and given him control, because it made him happy. Giving him what he needed, and being with him, made her happy.

Gigi’s only concern was how he’d pulled away from her when she’d had the nerve to be mushy and romantic with him, telling him how he made her feel. He so clearly had enjoyed the praise, even if it did make him uncomfortable. She definitely needed some romantic and mushy along with the rough stuff. Sighing out loud as she finished the last of her dinner, she closed her laptop, contemplating how she had no idea what was going through his head and no idea when and if they would move forward, after she had upset him the night before and then ticked him off royally by coordinating the new track he’d so desperately wanted for Mount Vernon. _God forbid. He is such a princess._

__________

“So yer pissed off she saved ya from bendin’ over and handin’ Blake the lube in order to get money out of him, and ‘cause she made sure the construction didn’t interfere with yer games an’ practices?” Merle questioned Negan sarcastically, taking a sip of his beer as he scrutinized his friend. “What a bitch! I get it man, I wouldn’t be able ta put up with shit like that, either. No way, no how.” Rolling his eyes at the coach, he grabbed a handful of peanuts out of the bowl on the bar and tossed them into his mouth.

The coach glared in response to his buddy’s sarcasm as he swayed slightly on his barstool, downing the last of his scotch on the rocks and holding up his glass to signal the bartender to bring him another.  

“You need ta start drinkin’ rail scotch. That Johnny Walker is takin’ me for broke,” the groundskeeper admonished him. After throwing enough money on the bar to cover the drink he coaxed, “There’s gotta be more to yer story than what yer tellin’ me, man, cause I haven’t heard a damn thing yet that’d shoot yer day all ta shit and cause yer foul ass mood, even if it is easy to do.”

“You’re a dick, Merle.” Negan’s tongue was loose enough after two double highballs and three shots of tequila to fill his buddy in on the rest of his unease. “But there _is_ more to the story.”

“Oh, yeah? Do tell, amigo.” The redneck couldn’t wait to hear what had really happened between his friend and Gigi. It was clear something the dancing pixie had done was eating at the man’s craw, and since the redneck was fairly sober, he was enjoying the man’s boozed up confessions.

“So when did I start fucking around with her, Merle?” Negan questioned him, launching into his tail of woe. “It’s Monday, right? Yeah, it’s Monday.” He held up his hand between them as he spoke, studying his five spread fingers very seriously. After wiggling them several times, the coach figured out how to curl his thumb and pinky into his palm, leaving three fingers in the air and announced, “Three days ago! Three fucking days ago.”

“And?”

“ _Aaannnd_ , last night she went crazy on me.”

“Crazy, how?” the redneck prompted him. Gigi didn’t seem like the psycho type, but most women didn’t show you their true colors until after you slept with them.

The coach looked at him incredulously, as if he should already understand the problem. “She started talking all _nice_ to me.” Feeling as if he’d poured his heart out, and couldn’t discuss the matter any further, Negan took a sip of his new drink, shaking his head.

“I can see why that’d piss ya off,” his buddy commiserated with a smirk. “What kinda nice?” Picking his phone up off the bar, he hit the camera icon on the home screen, swiped to video mode and started recording. His friend was none the wiser, too intent on getting his glass to his lips without spilling any of the beverage. He owed Negan, since the night the asshole had recorded him throwing up on his front lawn after happy hour one night the year before and showed it to everyone at the next happy hour.

“Ahh, Jesus! It was baaad. She started tellin’ me how great my dick feels and how pretty I am, do you fucking believe that?”

“Seriously?” the groundskeeper feigned shocked disbelief, wondering how accurate his buddy’s statements were. He couldn’t imagine Gigi saying the words, _“Your dick feels great.”_

“Fuck, yes!” Negan confided vehemently to his new ally. “And then she started calling me hers. _Hers!_ What the fuck, Merle? ‘ _My Negan!’_ She _said_ that to me!”

The groundskeeper stifled a laugh, his expression serious as he inquired. “Well, what’re you gonna do about it, pretty boy?”

Negan vacillated between looking exaggeratedly offended by his new nickname and conflicted as to what to do about Gigi, finally asking, “I don’t know, man. What would you do?”

“What would _I_ do? Well, now, let me think about it. Ya know I had a gal start talkin’ sweet like that ta me the first week I was datin’ her, talkin’ about settlin’ down and shit, so I know what you’re goin’ through,” he teased the man.

“What’d you do?” the coach looked at his friend as if he wouldn’t be able to settle the matter without his sage advice.

“I dumped her ass.” He had dumped her, and then taken her back two days later when she’d offered him one of her premium blow jobs. He could handle her possessive sweet nothings if it meant he’d get a good blow job.

“Really? So you think I should dump her ass?” Negan thought about it for a moment and then countered with a vitally important concern, “But she’s so fucking hot, man.”

“She is that,” his buddy concurred. “And you know what else?”

The coach simply shook his head vigorously at his friend, waiting for the answer.

“She’s got the magic pussy, my friend. Those only come along once in a lifetime. You wanna think twice before you throw that away.”

“Yeeeessssss! The magic pussy! She’s got magic fucking hands, too, Merle,” Negan disclosed before he quizzed, “And you know what else?” He didn’t wait for his buddy’s reply before he answered, “She’s fucking sparkly!”

 Merle didn’t know what the hell his friend was really trying to say, but he actually understood the sentiment. There was something about Gigi that made her different than anyone he’d ever known. She was something special. “Yeah she is, man.”

The football coach was quiet for a minute, contemplating his dilemma. “You’re absolutely fucking right!” he concluded. He was quiet for several seconds before he decided, “Since I need her magic fucking pussy, I’m just gonna have to fucking tell her she can’t say nice shit to me anymore to me if she wants me to keep her around!”

Merle nodded thoughtfully before he agreed, “Makes sense to me, amigo.”

________

Gigi was straightening the family room up when a knock at the sliding glass doors behind her startled her, making her jump. She turned around to find Merle, standing outside on her deck. Giving him a big smile, she motioned for him to come in, greeting him, “Hey! What’re you doing here?”

“Hope ya don’t mind,” Merle questioned. “I was next door puttin’ Negan to bed, and I thought I’d come by an’ say hi instead a callin’ ya.”

“Of course I don’t mind!” Gigi assured him. “Sit down! Can I get you something to drink?”

“Ya got any coffee?”

“Sure do.” She moved to her Keurig, next to the sink and dropped a fresh pod into the machine. Putting a tall mug under it, she pressed the start button. “So what trouble were you boys getting into, that you had to put Negan to bed?” She had smelled beer when Merle had walked by her, so she assumed they’d been drinking.

“He had a few too many at the Kozy Keg,” the groundskeeper informed her. “So I got him home, dumped his ass in bed, and then came over here ta hit ya up for coffee.”

“You drove after drinking?” she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Nah. We always take an Uber or a taxi when we know we’ll be poundin’ down drinks. He wasn’t fallin’ down drunk. I just had ta make sure he got inta bed okay. He was fallin’ asleep in the car since he was so loaded.”

“At seven thirty at night?” she laughed at the thought.

“Your boyfriend had quite a few drinks,” Merle tested Gigi, to see what her response would when he raised the subject of her and Negan’s relationship.

“You wanna know how I’ll respond to the word boyfriend?” She called him on his amateur detective work, picking up the finished coffee and walked over to sit it in front of him.

“Maybe.” He poured sugar in his coffee and stirred while he waited for her response.

“I don’t know if we should get into that, Merle,” she advised him honestly. “Negan is your friend, so it probably would be best if we didn’t discuss what’s going on between him and me. I wouldn’t want either of you to think I’m trying to divide your loyalty.”

“He _is_ ma friend, Gigi,” he responded. “I know Negan better’n anyone I’ve ever known in my life, other’n Daryl. And sometimes I think I know more about Negan than I do Daryl, since Daryl keeps everythin’ close ta the vest.”

The dancer was quiet, waiting to hear what he wanted to say. He’d obviously brought the topic up for a reason. She grabbed her glass of wine from the coffee table and joined him, sitting on the stool next to him, waiting for him to go on.

Merle studied the woman as she drank her wine. They’d become buddy-buddy pretty quickly, sharing some serious personal stuff, and he trusted her. If she wasn’t on the up and up, he was certain he would have heard some of his own secrets coming back to him from his drunk buddy at the Keg earlier. Even so, he still wasn’t going to spill Negan’s secrets. He found himself at a loss, not sure how to continue.

“He ain’t an easy man ta get along with, unless ya know what makes him tick,” he found himself explaining, beating around the bush. “One thing I’ve learned about him is sometimes it takes him awhile ta work things out. Stuff pisses him off, an’ he acts like an asshole fer awhile. He’s gotta think on things fer a bit. Work ‘em out in his head.”

He finally looked up at Gigi, finding her intent on what he was telling her, so he went on, “The man’ll be pissy for a week, cranky as shit. But once he works things out in his head, he’s done with it and he acts like nothin’ was ever wrong.”

Gigi looked at him thoughtfully. She needed to leave Negan alone, as much as she wanted to insist he talk things out with her. She had tried pushing him once before and it hadn’t worked. As much as she wanted to settle things and move on, it sounded like he needed to work on things in his own mind before he’d be able to work them out with her. “So when he’s acting like a jerk, you just let him blow off steam, and wait for him to get over himself?” she deduced.

“Pretty much,” Merle validated. “Not that I don’t aggravate the piss outta him in the mean time.” He chuckled at the thought. “I just try not ta pluck at him too much about whatever is pissin’ him off.”

“Got it.”

“Good, ‘cause I’ve had enough a that asshole fer one day. You gotta finish tellin’ me what happened when you an' Carol went out drinkin’ after that Christmas show in New York.”

“That’s right!” Gigi squealed. “I forgot I started to tell you that story! I’ll tell you about a whole different side of Mount Vernon’s home economics teacher!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few pages I read for this chapter:  
> https://www.huffpost.com/entry/this-is-why-you-feel-sad-after-sex-even-when-its-good-sex_n_5b6b187de4b0fd5c73dfe68b  
> https://www.submissiveguide.com/safety/articles/sub-drops-emotional-side


	19. One Fucking Step At A Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He stood in front of the dusty piece of furniture for several minutes, looking over his late wife’s belongings. Studying himself in the dresser’s mirror, he searched for confirmation as if the man behind the image was going to validate what he needed to do. He nodded at himself unintentionally before taking two steps and reaching between the dresser and the wall, pulling out an empty box he had brought into the room two months before so he could start cleaning out Lucille’s things. He had been unsuccessful at the endeavor, and after several days of walking around it, he’d put the cardboard into the corner, out of sight, knowing he would pull it back out when he was good and fucking ready.  
> ________

Negan was so used to seeing Gigi and Merle sharing coffee in her office in the mornings, he was surprised when he walked by the cheerleading coach’s door at five after seven and found it closed, her dry erase board still declaring,  “I’m out!!!” in hot pink magic marker from the day before. He knew she hadn’t come into work yet, since the message had not been changed, the heart dotting the middle of three exclamation points still slightly lopsided, as it had been at the end of the day before. There also was no cup of coffee on the floor in front of his door, sitting on a brown napkin with a personal drawing in purple magic marker.

She still hadn’t arrived when he walked by her office to go out to the football field at seven twenty-five, her door still closed. Deciding she must have slept in since cheerleading practice didn’t start until nine o’clock, he assumed he would see her at lunchtime.

Negan was almost finished the sandwich he’d brought for lunch, when he realized Gigi hadn’t bounced in to see him. _Huh._ He was sure she would pop by and ask if they could talk, and he’d been ready to tell her no, because he wasn’t quite ready to get into things with her.

The football coach left work at four, after a noisy but productive day. He had spent some time talking to the doughy one, and had looked over the blue prints and specs for the track. Gigi had really come through in getting the surface material for the track donated by the manufacturer. With Blake’s donation, the school would have only been able to afford a second tier synthetic surface, not the top of the line polyurethane material which was being installed. His girl’s efforts had ensured Mount Vernon would have a state of the art running track, superior to the other schools in their county.

A few of Simon’s track students had stopped by, prompted by their coach’s email to the track team a few days before announcing the new track and advising them to watch the WJLA five o’clock news to see their rock star track coach nail his tv interview. The kids’ excitement had been infectious, and Negan had chuckled at their jumping and hollering, one boy shouting, “University of Virginia, here I come!” Devon was Mount Vernon’s best sprinter, and was counting on a scholarship in track so his parents could afford to send him to college.

The coach made himself some dinner after he took a shower, grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge and headed out to his deck to eat and look at the football team’s schedule of home and away games, so he could coordinate bussing to transport the team and cheerleaders to the other schools. Of course he was also waiting for Gigi to come outside for her five o’clock swim. The fucking sop in him had missed being with her for the last two days after being on top of, under and inside her for the entire fucking weekend. There was something about helping his girl find her way, and sharing some of her sexual firsts which had done him in, firmly cementing his place as Gigi’s big, fat, fucking pussy.

What a fan-fucking-tastic weekend it had been. He’d come out of it with a sense of calm and contentment he hadn’t felt since Lucille had gotten sick. It was as if his emotions had been in a blender for months, with some sadistic bastard hitting the pulse button regularly just to fuck with him. All the madness was over, and he was feeling his way out of the dark into the light with a woman who was crawling out of the same hole. Having someone who could relate to what he was going through was an extra added bonus. And he liked fucking her.

Negan was going to wait for his dancer to finish her swim and see if she wanted to talk out all the bullshit they’d been at odds about at work. When he had taken the time to think it all over, Gigi meant well. She did. If she could just bounce her damned ass around with her cheerleaders, and leave him to look after the department, they would get along just as well at work as they did in the bedroom.

Distracted by his scheduling, the coach finally realized it was ten after five, and Gigi hadn’t come out for her swim. Knowing his girl’s OCD habits, he could guarantee she wasn’t swimming today or she would have been in the water by now. He finished up his work and headed inside.

_________

“What an amazing accomplishment, Gigi!” Paul Rovia toasted her with his lager. “You got the department out from under Blake’s thumb, and cinched a better track than we would have ever been able to afford.”

The pair was sitting in Terminus, a trendy bar and grille on the outskirts of Old Town Alexandria, built in the shell of an 1800’s railroad terminal which had been gutted by fire a century before. Contractors had kept the industrial feel of the building, refurbishing the interior and turning it into a mini mall for small, locally owned boutiques, coffee shops and specialty food stores. The place was always hopping.

Sharing some appetizers to go along with their drinks, at one of the bar area’s tall cocktail tables, Gigi was thoroughly enjoying her night out with her new friend. They had made their dinner date to discuss the self-defense class they were going to offer one evening a week at the high school. She found the soccer coach easy to talk to, and the two of them had been chatting nonstop, as if they had known each other for years. Well into their evening, they had yet to talk about their ideas for the class. She shrugged off his kudos. “I just made a few phone calls. Our donors made the project a possibility.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. It takes a lot of work to cultivate the kind of relationships needed for a business to open their wallets and donate thousands of dollars.”

“Thanks, Paul,” Gigi appreciated what he was saying, and she knew her feat was noteworthy, but the fact it had stirred up problems with Negan had been dulling her excitement over the accomplishment.

The man across the table studied her for a moment before he finally inquired lightly, “Soooo, Negan giving you a hard time about stealing his thunder?”

The dancer hedged with her answer, not wanting to gossip about her boss, or her lover. “You know we really haven’t talked about it. Too busy with back to school preparations and practices.”

Paul took a drink of his beer, and then another, before he surmised, “It must be difficult coming in to a new job where you’re working under the man you’re in a new relationship with.” He watched Gigi hesitate as she dipped a spoon in the salsa one too many times to transfer some to her plate, trying to buy herself some time to come up with a response to his probing.

“I was one of the last people at Negan’s on Friday night,” he explained, “down on the dock for the last couple of hours, talking with Tara. I saw Negan head over to your place in the early morning hours. I guess he thought everyone was gone.”

“So Tara also ...” Gigi started, half sick at the thought two people knew what was happening between her and Negan. He had been at her house for quite a while that night, so it would be obvious he was there for a reason. Her worry about the possibility of problems at work, as well as an unwelcome social media frenzy swirled around in her head.

“No!” the soccer coach cut across her, trying to ease the panic she was trying to hide. “Tara had her back to him. I kept her talking until Negan was inside. We left before he came back out.”

“Thank God. I …” she floundered. “Can I ask a favor of you?”

“Can you ask me to keep what I saw to myself?” he predicted her request. “You don’t need to ask, Gigi. I would never share your private business with anyone.”

“Thank you, Paul.”

He raised his hand, waving away her thanks. “My friends call me Jesus.”

“Well then thanks, Jesus,” she corrected herself with a smile.

“I’m not trying to butt into your business,” he reassured her, softly. “I guess I just want you to know I’m a great listener, if you need one. I’ve been working at Mount Vernon for a handful of years now, so I’ve learned how to navigate the waters around our department head so as to avoid making waves.”

“So it takes years? I’ve actually already had some on the job training in the art of pussy footing around the department head. I don’t pussy foot very well, apparently.” Both teachers chuckled, shaking their heads at the quandary known as Negan.

Gigi found it amusing both Merle and Jesus felt they should offer her advice as to how to handle the Negan, and Michonne and Tara had mentioned how difficult he could be. The only person who hadn’t weighed in the matter was Simon, and she suspected it was due to the men’s' long-time relationship.  

“I may need your advice at some point,” the dancer smiled once more, squeezing Paul's hand where it lay on the table. “But right now I want to talk about something other than work. Try outs and practice have been crazy. I need a break from the madness.”

 “I don’t blame you,” her date reassured her. “Why don’t you tell me all about working with Mikhail Baryshnikov! Will you see him when he’s in town for the Kennedy Center Honors this weekend?”

“Yes! You're familiar with the honors ceremony?” Gigi gushed. “I am so excited to get dressed up and go to the ceremony and gala afterwards!”

“There’s a gala?” he queried, picking up his menu when their waiter Gareth approached the table to take their dinner order. “Hey, should we split an order of ribs?” He looked at her for confirmation.

“That sounds amazing,” the dancer agreed.

“They’re my personal favorite,” the server informed them. “They’re sourced locally, you know.”

________

So what if he had stepped out onto his own fucking deck several times since the sun had gone down? He enjoyed spending time out there. And so what if he had glanced over at his neighbor’s house to see if any lights were on in her bedroom indicating she was home? Negan could see light shining through the sliding doors which lead into the kitchen and family room, and he could see lights on behind the window on the front corner bedroom, closest to his house, which was likely one of the kids’ rooms. There was no light coming through the French doors of the master bedroom, so unless Gigi was watching tv in the family room, she wasn’t home yet.

And so what if he’d looked up her fucking cell phone number online in the school’s faculty directory in the private, staff-only section of Mount Vernon’s website and saved it into his cell phone in case he wanted to casually text her in a little bit to see if she’d be home soon so they could talk? He’d been meaning to give her his number, so texting her would save her the trouble of looking his number up if she needed it, wouldn’t it?  He wondered if she’d thought about looking up his number.

_Where the fuck is she tonight? She’s always fucking home after work._

________

At nine fifty-eight Negan opened his texting app, hitting Gigi’s name in his contacts and typing a short message.

_It’s Negan._

_Can we talk?_

_No fucking way. Sounds too ominous. That kind of message could cause a woman to freak the fuck out before she even knows what she’s freaking out about._ He hit the backspace button twenty-four times and mulled over alternate wording before he typed in a new message at one minute after ten.

_Hey, it’s Negan._

_You busy?_

_Better. Sounds like I don’t know she's not home. But what the fuck would she be busy doing at ten o’clock at night, though? That’s just a stupid fucking question._ Hitting the backspace button repeatedly, he decided he didn’t need his name in the message. She would figure out who the fuck was messaging her. Or would she?

_Hey, missed you_

_the last few days._

He reviewed his message. Chastising himself zealously for sounding pussy-whipped, he thought about adding, ‘ _And I’ve obviously grown a fucking vagina because your goddamn magic pussy has fucked me in the head.’_

 _Nah, too much typing. What the hell am I thinking? Missed you? What the fuck, Negan? Missed your pretty, shaved cooze, maybe. Missed pounding your sweet snatch, perhaps._ Backspace, backspace, backspace, backspace, backspace, backspace, backspace. _If you just hold the button down it keeps going on its own? Sweet! How the fuck did I not know that? Dumb ass. Damn, my balls itch._

At ten after ten he mulled over his latest message, reaching down to scratch the itchy fuckers.

_My good girl-_

_Want some_

_company?_

_Not foreboding. Not too pussified. Obvious who it’s from._ The coach stared at the words for several seconds, index finger hovering over the send button. _Fuck it._ _I’ll just talk to her tomorrow._ Backspace, backspace … He was staring so intently at the phone, it startled the shit out of him when it suddenly rang, Merle’s name in large letters, and a photo of him flipping the camera the bird, announcing the caller’s identity on the screen. The picture made Negan chuckle every time his friend called.

“What’s up shithead?” he answered, chuckling at both the photo and being caught off guard.

“Fuck you, pretty boy,” the groundskeeper responded. “What time are we leavin’ fer the game on Saturday?” The coach had scored excellent seats for a Terrapins game at his alma mater, so he, Merle, Daryl and Walsh were going to cruise up to College Park together in the late afternoon and booze it up before the game.

“I’m thinking four, asshole. Figure we'll get some chow and drinks at one of the restaurants right outside of campus.”

“A’right. Later.”

“Yep.”

He ended the succinct conversation, his phone taking him back to the texting screen.

**10:20 PM    Gigi**

_That’s a provocative_

_message …_

_What the fuck? Oh, shit! I hit send? Fuck!_ _Provocative?_ Rereading his text, he realized he must have hit send after he’d started erasing his message. He huffed a laugh at himself as he started to reply.

_______

Jesus was telling Gigi how Eugene had followed Olivia around all night at Negan’s back to school get together, but had been too shy to speak with her. “I just about died when he spied Olivia and Merle chatting, knee to knee and nose to nose at the table on the deck. Poor Eugene. The look on his face! It was as if someone had kicked his puppy!” He shook his head at the memory, wiping the last of the barbeque sauce off his hands with his napkin.

The screen lit up on Gigi’s cell phone where it lay to the side of their accumulated plates and glasses. “Just in case the kids need me,” she had explained when she’d placed it there. “I know they’re old enough to take care of themselves, but I still feel like such a novice at this parenting thing I hover over my phone.”

“No need to explain,” Jesus had reassured her.

Tossing her own napkin down next to her plate, she picked up the phone, and tapping on the text notification at the top of the screen.

**10:19 PM     Unknown**

_My good girl-_

_Want some_

The message was from an unknown contact, but the greeting made it clear who had sent it. Gigi’s face lit up, glad to hear from Negan. She had made sure to stay out of his line of vision all day, giving him some space to sort out whatever he was worked up about. Keeping her distance had also given Gigi some time to think about things rationally, which she had needed. Perplexed by his text, she typed in her response.

**10:20 PM**

_That’s a provocative_

_message …_

**10:21 PM   Unknown**

_Hit send too soon._

_Want some company?_

Gigi held up one finger to the soccer coach to let him know she wouldn’t be long. She hated when people texted or talked on the phone at inappropriate times.

**10:22 PM**

_Sorry, I’m out with_

_Jesus. Would love_

_‘some' otherwise. ;)_

Typing quickly, she set the phone down on the table so she could go back to her conversation with her friend. She was glad Negan had reached out, having wondered how long he would be angry with her, and how much time would be appropriate to stay out of his hair. _Why does this have to be so complicated? It shouldn’t be this complicated._ She turned the phone upside down when it lit up again with a notification for a text from “unknown”, determined not to be inconsiderate to Jesus.

__________

Out with Jesus? Negan remembered hearing the conversation between his girl and their coworker at the party on Friday. They were going to talk about the details of their self-defense class. _Fuck._  

He tossed the phone onto his bed as he walked into his bedroom, deciding he wanted to sleep on his pillow top king-size mattress for a change, instead of the six fucking inch short couch in the family room. He felt like he needed one good night of sleep, after several nights of partying and sex and he could at least doze off until his girl got home. Assuming she’d want some company.

He looked around the room thoughtfully, taking in all the fragments of Lucille, and what seemed, at this point in time, like his former life. Pieces of her were everywhere. Walking over to their dresser, he smirked at how the surface was covered with a disproportionate amount of Lucille’s perfume, makeup organizers, hair products and other sundry girly shit. He had claimed only twelve inches or so of one end of the piece of furniture for his two bottles of cologne, a framed eight by ten photo of him and his mother at his high school graduation in nineteen eighty four, a brush, and a classic Hot Wheels car, mint in package, his Uncle Vic had given him for his tenth birthday.

He picked up his phone from the bed and typed in another message to Gigi. No bullshit, just him being real.

**10:25 PM**

_Let me know if_

_you want “some”_

_When you get home._

He stood in front of the dusty piece of furniture for several minutes, looking over his late wife’s belongings. Studying himself in the dresser’s mirror, he searched for confirmation as if the man behind the image was going to validate what he needed to do. He nodded at himself unintentionally before taking two steps and reaching between the dresser and the wall, pulling out an empty box he had brought into the room two months before so he could start cleaning out Lucille’s things. He had been unsuccessful at the endeavor, and after several days of walking around it, he’d put the cardboard into the corner, out of sight, knowing he would pull it back out when he was good and fucking ready.

 _Makeup. Used makeup can be tossed out._ He fished through the two organizers, pulling out a familiar tube of dark caramel colored lipstick he’d always liked on his wife, and a bottle of his favorite burgundy nail polish she would wear whenever they dressed up for a special event. Setting them with his things on the right side of the dresser, he put both of the loaded organizers down in the box. Spying her three bottles of perfume, he set his favorite with his other keepers, and put the two remainders in the box as well. He also added her hair spray and other styling products, as well as her curling iron, leaving the hair dryer, since he used it most days. He needed a second box, he thought to himself, to pack the things he could give to charity and a third to pack the things he knew Lucille’s sisters might like to have. _Another day._

He ran his hand through the dust on the now half empty dresser, making a mental note to go over it with cleaner the next day. The box was almost full, with everything he’d put in it, and he knew he should take it out to the garage for trash day, but he didn’t. He didn’t think he was ready yet. He tucked the box back into its hidey hole in the corner, determined not to get aggravated with himself for being so sentimental about her things.

He wondered if his girl had gone through her husband’s things yet. She had made it sound, when they’d discussed the matter, as if she were unfamiliar with his choice between trying to put aside the memories of his dead wife, and looking at reminders of her every day. He was glad she didn’t have to experience the dilemma.

The coach checked his phone, in case he’d missed a message from Gigi, before he brushed his teeth and stripped down to his boxer briefs as he usually did before bed. Walking back out to the kitchen, he poured himself a glass of ice water. It was ten forty-five, and his tired body was calling for some sleep. He checked his phone once more before he set his alarm for six forty-five in the morning. When he didn’t find a text from his girl, he crawled under the bed covers and settled in, pleased as fuck with himself for packing up a few of Lucille’s things.

_One fucking step at a time._

________

At eleven forty-eight, after stripping down to the sapphire colored unitard she had worn in place of a bra and panties under her clothes, Gigi washed her face, put on her myriad of nighttime anti-aging creams and gels, brushed her teeth and then turned down her bed. Pulling her phone out of her purse, she realized she’d been so caught up in her conversation with Jesus, she had never looked at Negan’s second text message after she’d replied to his first,.

**10:25 PM**

_Let me know if_

_you want “some”_

_When you get home._

She studied the screen for a moment, trying to decide if it was too late to answer him. She decided against the idea, choosing instead to slip out the doors onto her deck and down the stairs to the yard. The neighboring house was dark, other than a very faint glow in the kitchen window. Hurrying across the yard in her bare feet, she made her way up the steps to the second floor of his deck, stopping to peek through the sliding glass doors into his family room. Negan had mentioned he’d been sleeping on the couch instead of in the master bedroom. Pressing her forehead to the glass door like a peeping Tom, she let her eyes adjust to the darkness inside. When she was finally able to make out the sofa and love seat, she did not spot him on either.

Walking over to the master bedroom sliders, she looked around the interior, smiling when she could make him out, lying on his back, in the glow of the digital clock next to the bed. She smiled, happy to see him and happy he was sleeping in his bedroom, when he had avoided it for so long.

Testing the latch for the door, Gigi found it unlocked, and slid the door open just far enough to squeeze through. She could hear the sounds of her lover’s breathing, almost a snore, deep and even across the room. Tip toeing, she approached his side of the bed. Hearing his breath catch, she knew he had heard her and was stirring from his sleep.

“It’s me,” she reassured him softly in the dark, reaching out her hand and laying it on his chest. His hand immediately moved from underneath his pillow to lay on top of hers.

Negan struggled to open his eyes. He’d been dead asleep, startled awake by some sort of subtle shift in the energy around him, and he knew even before she reassured him, his girl had come to him in the night. The feel of her hand on his chest helped to calm his racing heart. He lay still, his eyes finally opening, searching and finding her standing over him.

Leaning over him, Gigi felt her way across his cheek with her lips as her fingers ran through his hair, and she softly kissed him here and there, physically greeting him. He responded immediately, if not a bit sleepily, humming with satisfaction in response to the affection, the fingers of one hand sliding around the back of her thigh and fondling it tenderly.

Removing her hand from his chest, she pulled the covers off him, crawling over him to straddle his waist while her lips skimmed across his forehead, nipped down his cheek, and then sucked on his bottom lip as she groaned with pleasure at the taste of him. Kissing him longingly, she ground her covered folds into his groin, feeling her way until his growing erection was nestled against her center. His sleepy, breathy moan spurred her on, and she began to move forward and back on his length, their breathing heavier as their lazy movements shifted into a higher gear.

It felt like it had been fucking years since they’d been together, which created a sense of urgency in Negan to bury himself inside her as soon as fucking possible. He groaned in upset when she rocked forward, her pussy leaving his cock so she could reach his lips to kiss him passionately, telling him without words how much she wanted him.

“Need to fuck you, Gigi,” he whispered, pulling the fabric of her body suit up high in the crack of her ass, exposing her glorious cheeks so he could knead them as she hovered over him on her knees. He sat up, pulling her ass so her groin met his stomach, and pushing her torso upright with him as if she was just another part of him he needed to shift.

His fingers were everywhere, clutching and grasping one minute, softly caressing her the next. He didn’t know what the fuck she was wearing, but it definitely wasn’t a garment meant for easy access, and he was too impatient to do the work required to remove it. Sliding the straps of the top down her arms, he mouthed his way down the center of her chest, nosing his way beneath the stretchy material covering it so he could lavish attention on tiny number one and then tiny number two, sucking each one forcefully, delighted he could make every bit of the little, tiny, perfect titties disappear into his mouth.

Gigi moaned, and she whimpered at his play, gasping when his fingertips followed the curve of her exposed glutes down and underneath her, smoothly slipping underneath the fabric between her thighs and sliding between her wet folds. She whimpered at his touch, on fire for him after two long days without him.

Negan needed her that very fucking second. His fingers moved with purpose, spreading her lubrication around her opening and up around her clit, making sure she was ready before he invaded her, pushing his index and middle finger up inside her. He searched until he found her g-spot, rubbing it in the hopes of wetting her up as quickly as possible, because he felt a little fucking desperate to get inside her.

As he played with her, he reveled in the sound of her increased whimpers and cries, the fingers of his free hand circling the back of her neck and pulling her to him, her lips slotting perfectly into his, like a missing piece of his puzzle.

Gigi’s hands didn’t stop moving the entire time he played with her, even as she shuddered and writhed, grazing along his back, her fingers carding through his hair, brushing across his lips, one hand finally reaching between them to search for the part of him she needed the most. Negan groaned as she wormed her fingers through the flap in the front of his briefs, pulling his erection through the opening, stroking him as he drove her crazy by massaging her g spot.

Scrambling to move the crotch of her body suit to the side, she moved her hips to position herself over him, needed him inside her as soon as possible. When Negan figured out what she was trying to do, he pulled his fingers from her, hooking his index finger in the fabric and yanking it to the side, holding it out of the way. His amazing fucking girl immediately moved the head of his cock into position, surrounding him with her heat, her breath stuttering as she sunk down onto his length.

He cursed lowly, the feel of her silken core surrounding him, fitting him like a fucking glove. _Fuuuuuck me. So amazingly fucking good._

After taking a moment to simply feel him, Gigi started to move, her hands on his shoulders, her lips seeking out his. There was nothing better, she was sure, than kissing him as he moved inside her, the combination of the two sensual acts almost more than she could emotionally bear. A tiny, heartfelt cry escaped from her lips as they grazed over his cheekbone, and she clamped her lips shut, not wanting to scare him with her emotional outburst. _Too much._

Negan heard the sound. Even more so he felt it, and like the fucking pussy he was for her, his chest constricted. Flattered as fuck at his effect on her, he kissed her with everything he had in him, determined to show her what she meant to him, in the only way he knew how. Grabbing low on her hip one handed while he used the other hand to pull her garment up into the valley between her pussy and her thigh, he helped to move her, digging his fingers in to her flesh, sliding her down on him, then pushing her horizontally away from him, tilting her hips back as he pushed her off his dick, dragging her clit along the top of his cock to stimulate her, showing her a new way to get herself off.

Gigi pulled back to look him in the eye after a few strokes, clutching the hair at the back of his head as she laughed with delight, taking over the rocking of her hips in an exaggerated movement which ensured maximum stimulation on her nub. She cried out when he put his fingertips on the tip of her clitoris, pushing it downward to ensure the perfect slide along his erection.

He fucking loved how she mimicked the motions, not hesitating to use his cock and his hand like they were made for her pleasure. Knowing he would come as long as she kept moving, she rocked on him. “Come on Gigi … come for me!” he ordered against the full, delicious lips which were still panting against his, kissing her in between phrases. “Can you come for me?”

Gigi didn’t respond, inside her own head, concentrating on the feel of him and the pulsing sensation inside her. She was close, so close, but then she started to worry. Hearing his panting, and feeling his motions shift from smooth to jerky, she knew he was close to coming, and she didn’t want to cause a delay in his pleasure. She moved her focus back to him, smiling as she whispered, “Don’t worry about me, Negan. Not right now.”

He wanted to reassure her, _‘Of course, I’ll fucking worry about you.’_ He wanted to be selfless enough, in this moment, to put his own need for release on hold and focus on her. But he couldn’t, selfish prick that he was, because her pussy felt like heaven, and his need to orgasm was all consuming and not to be denied. “Me first, then you, sweetheart?” he half suggested and half promised her, because he needed her to know he wasn’t giving up on her, and he would make sure she was satisfied as soon as he could. He found himself needing to explain it to her, because he’d promised her every day could be her fucking someday. “You feel so fucking good on me, Gigi, making me fucking crazy with your amazing fucking pussy, riding me so fucking good…” As he rambled he felt her shift her hips, and digging her fingers into shoulders she began to pounding him in earnest, pulling almost all the way off him before slamming down on him.

She was nose to nose with him, watching him, enjoying his hand twitching on her hip and his eyes fluttering shut as she moved faster and faster. She loved his cursing, and groaning and the way his head lolled back as if he no longer had the strength to hold it up. She loved it all as she increased her speed, working her thigh muscles even as her knee screamed in protest at the frenzied pace she’d set. The look and sound of his pleasure was worth the price she’d pay later. So worth it.

“So fucking good, Gigi!” Negan managed to praise her. “Fuck!” Both his hands finding her hips, he forced her down on his cock a handful of times, grunting and shuddering as he started to come.

She kissed him, wanting to be connected to him as he climaxed, wanting to feel his orgasm through him instead of watching it from the outside. She pulled him flush against her, taking in every sound, every uneven breath and every quiver and buck of his hips, feeling his heart pounding against her chest.  

Negan found himself pulling at his girl, wanting her closer, running his hands up and down her sides and her back, feeling every inch of her half clothed body. Every fucking inch which belonged to him, as far as he was concerned. ‘ _My Negan’_ , she had whispered to him in the dark, and it had made him uncomfortable because he had known it was true. It was uncomfortable for him because it was too fucking soon for him to need her as much as he did. It was too soon for him to want to be her Negan. _Big ass panty waste. Fuck._

Maybe he just needed someone. Maybe anyone, he told himself as he ran his tongue along her lower lip, humming as the tip of hers came out to meet it. Maybe he just didn’t want to be alone now that his wife was gone, he reasoned with himself as he ran his fingers through her hair, then splayed them on either side of her face, rolling and tilting her head so he could run his lips along the smooth as fuck skin of her cheekbones and her jawline and her neck, wanting to hear the hum she would purr low in her throat when he lavished her with any type of physical affection. Maybe he was blowing things out of proportion, he chided himself as he tasted her with his tongue and his lips. Maybe it was one or all of those things, since there was no fucking way he could feel so much longing for someone he’d only been fucking for four days. _Maybe_ , he tried to convince himself as he pulled back to look in her beautiful eyes, smiling at the way her eyes were fluttering shut and struggling to open from the caress of his lips, and the way she was utterly fucking relaxed in his arms.

Negan’s energy started to renew, and he remembered he needed to return the favor of a fantastic orgasm for his girl. He kissed her softly before he lifted her off his cock, guiding her to turn around and sit on his lap with her back to his chest because he just, fucking, _loved_ being able to move her petite ass wherever the fuck he wanted her and he relished the feel of her pressed against him. Running his hands along the inside of her thighs, he spread her legs, the fingers of one hand going to work on her pussy. _My pussy._

Gigi whimpered, and she groaned, and she cried out as he toyed with her, stimulating her fast and hard. It felt like heaven and too much, all at once, a surprisingly enjoyable combination. She panted open mouthed, his fingers relentless in their pursuit of her orgasm, causing her to shudder and writhe.

As Negan worked, he bent her spread knees where they rested on the outside of his thighs, and putting one hand under her ass, he lifted and pushed her forward onto her hands and knees. Resting on his shins behind her, his hand steadily circling her clit from underneath her belly, he kissed and nibbled the cheeks of her ass. Once again pushing her body suit further out of his way, he nuzzled his way down her cleft, taking in the heady scent of her pussy and ass. “Fuck, Gigi!”

She gasped in surprise when she felt Negan’t tongue, warm and wet, move up and down the crack of her rear end, running right over her hole without hesitation, all while his fingers were still moving between her folds. She couldn’t help herself when she pushed back into him with his second pass, forcing his tongue more firmly against her pucker.

“Good girl,” he praised her, his words, his tongue and his fingers inflaming her senses, making her body vibrate with pleasure. “Show me what you like, Gigi.” Her hips seemed to move of their own accord, gyrating as he held still behind her, moving herself around his tongue, seeking out more of the oh, so naughty, but luscious feeling he’d introduced her to, the idea of which was as thrilling as the feeling it elicited. She had always wondered what could be likeable about anal stimulation. Now she knew what she’d been missing, thanks to her wicked boy.

Gigi wailed when he pressed forward, licking with force, her nerves tingling, alight with pleasure. “Negan! Oh my God!” Her hand flew back, fingers fisting in his hair to keep him in place as he prodded her opening with a straight tongue. She was shocked to find she wanted it inside her. _More_. _Now._

Gigi whimpered when his tongue disappeared, only to cry out when she felt his finger suddenly circling the sensitive entrance. Running the flat of it around her rim, moving from its outer edge to the center where he pushed lightly with the tip.

 _I want the fuck in there._ Negan was slowly but surely losing his fucking mind at the feel of her tight as fuck asshole under the pad of his finger. His girl was obviously loving the attention, so he decided to test her by pressing his index finger lightly into the center of her pucker. Feeling her tense he instructed, “Relax for me, sweetheart.” His amazing fucking woman nodded frantically at his words, and he felt her relax under his touch. “My good girl.”

Wanting to minimize any possible discomfort, he wet his pinky in her folds in place of his index finger, pressing at just the right spot in the center of her asshole, wishing he had enough light to see the very tip of his finger as it disappeared inside her. The feel alone was blissful. If he hadn’t just come, it would have been all fucking over for him.

As much as Gigi had wanted him to push inside, the burning sensation which flared made her hiss in discomfort, every muscle in her body locking in place in protest of the possibility of Negan’s finger moving even one iota further. Even as she flinched, she wanted to clamp her thighs together to try to quell the wave of arousal coursing through her.

Feeling her tense, Negan stilled both hands, giving her time to adjust and relax. “Do you want me to stop?” he inquired softly, knowing her answer before she even responded to the question.

“No! Don’t stop!”

Leaning forward, he peppered her back with kisses, encouraging her to calm. “My sweet girl,” he cooed. “Count to thirty for me. Slowly,” because he knew the discomfort would disappear within one minute, and would be replaced with nothing but pleasure when the muscle of her tight little pucker relaxed. He wanted her to experience the wonder of ass play. It was Negan’s favorite fucking kind of play, and he hadn’t been able to enjoy it enough in his lifetime. Women who were open to it had seemed to be few and far between.

Gigi nodded her head once more, concentrating on the feel of his lips grazing along her spine, listening to his husky voice count slowly as her hole contracted uncomfortably around its tiny invader. Even while she was uncomfortable, her core was pulsing with excitement. The mix of pleasure and pain was disconcerting, yet wonderful, foreign, yet welcome. Before he was even finished his count, the discomfort disappeared, and an overwhelming, pleasurable feeling took over.

He could tell when the muscle relaxed, and the discomfort had subsided, the tension in her body melting away. The muscle stopped involuntarily contracting around his finger, and relaxed completely, allowing him to push the small finger further inside her. The whine which escaped her lips made him freeze, unable to discern whether it stemmed from pleasure or pain.

But his amazing fucking girl answered the question, pushing herself back ever so subtly, testing to see what would happen if his finger moved inside her. He waited to see what she would do, and his girl rocked forward, causing his finger to slide part of the way out of her. Locking his hand in place, he chuckled to himself lowly, a two note laugh which shifted from low to high, as her minute movements became larger with each shift of her body. _My good fucking girl_.

Snapping out of his fascinated haze, Negan started circling her clit again, her whining and whimpering increasing ten fold with the double stimulation. _Fuuuuucckk, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuucckk, fuckity, fucking, fuck!_ Increasing the pressure and speed between her folds, he simultaneously started to move the finger in her ass, pushing forward as she pushed back.

Not a breath passed between his girl’s lips which didn’t sound like a moan, groan or whimper. It was as if she couldn’t contain the sounds if she tried, she was in such a frenzy. When her groans and moans all turned to whimpers, Negan knew Gigi was close, and she suddenly stalled, remaining perfectly still as he worked her over, the volume of her cries increasing as his motions purposely became more harried and more forceful, his wrist twisting as he pushed and pulled his finger gently in and out of her ass, his other hand shifting from circular motions to back and forth across the tip of her clit.

The force of Gigi’s orgasm was staggering, her abs contracting as she jerked forward on her knees, simultaneously trying to push out the finger inside her the minute she started to come. _Too much._

Hyper vigilant for any signs of discomfort, Negan gently pulled his finger from her as she keened, stopping the stimulation of her clit as well. Molding himself to her back, he splayed his fingers under her belly as she quaked and writhed, her head turned to him, lips seeking out contact. She eventually collapsed onto the mattress, and he lowered himself onto her, laying on her back. She was perfectly still except for the pounding of her heart and her panting, and he kissed across her shoulders and up her neck, grazing his lips over the side of her face and pushing wet tendrils of hair out of her face as she tried to catch her breath. “My good fucking girl,” he praised her.

His girl’s hand snaked underneath his where it lay on the mattress next to her head, and he entwined his fingers with hers, kissing the upturned corner of her mouth when she proudly nodded in agreement. _My good, fucking trusting girl._

__________

Negan spied the box of Lucille’s things in the corner of the bedroom as he toweled off after his shower the next morning, his eyes landing on it when he opened his dresser drawer to pull out a pair of gray twill casual pants, and a white tee shirt with a small purple Mount Vernon logo on the left side of the chest, to wear to work.

Gigi had left at one in the morning, wanting to get home since she hadn’t told Hannah and Marshall she would be gone. Neither she nor the coach liked the idea of one of the kids not being able to find their aunt if they needed her in the middle of the night.

He had lain awake for quite awhile after she’d left the bedroom he had shared with his late wife, mulling over his feelings for his dancer, and feeling a little bit guilty about their magnitude. One thing he'd told himself, to help his unease, was his wife would want him to be happy. She had given him permission to move on when he was ready. Negan was sure he was ready. He just needed some time for his confidence in his late wife’s wishes to override his slowly diminishing guilt.

When Mount Vernon’s football coach left for work, his trash can with a week’s worth of his household garbage was sitting next to his mailbox at the edge of the road, waiting for the trash truck which would come by later in the morning to empty it. There was a cardboard box full of used women’s beauty products sitting on the ground next to it for the trash men to take.


End file.
